Marry Me!
by bloodsucking-llama
Summary: AU: Draco uses Harry as a way to get out of an unwanted marriage. DMHP slash. Written before book 6. COMPLETE.
1. chapter one

Draco Malfoy stormed down the elaborate marble hallway, deaf to the furious yells of his father. He jumped up his staircase, three steps at a time, walked right into his room, and slammed his double doors so harshly that the two scowling portraits of him hanging on the sides of the doorframe shuddered and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Ignoring the two portraits, Lucius snarled as the doors shut in his face.

"DRACO!" he yelled. "Open these doors immediately!"

He pounded on the locked doors viscously, but Draco merely smirked to himself as he ignored the demands. He sat on one of his comfortable sofas, ripping off his boots and throwing them to the floor. He tore off his cloak and shirt and threw them at the boots so that they lay there in a crumpled heap. He glared furiously at himself in a large mirror as he tore out his hair tie, letting his nearly white hair fall into his face, flushed with anger.

"DRACO, I ORDER YOU TO – "

Draco stood up, picked up one of the boots, and hurled it at the door with a heavy thud. "GO TO HELL, YOU BASTARD!" he howled.

"I will NOT let you embarrass me today Draco, under NO circumstances will I allow you to do that," Draco heard the muffled seething on the other side of the door. He tossed his hair tie onto his sofa and proceeded to take off his pants. With a shake of his head and a glare, he decided that all he needed right then was a long, hot bath.

"I know you hear me," Lucius was saying angrily. "All right, decide to be the difficult, spoiled brat you are. I'll proceed with the deal without you."

Draco had the doors open in a flash, not caring that he was half naked. He spat after his father, who was half turned away and ready to leave. "Damn you to hell! I refuse, I absolutely refuse – "

"You can refuse all you like," Lucius marched right up to his son and glared down at him. Hadn't there been servants watching fearfully, you can be damned sure that Lucius would have beaten the boy. "But that does not change the fact that you will marry this girl, whether you like it or not. Believe it or not, Draco, this world does not revolve around your wants and desires." He turned away, whipping Draco with one last glare of hatred and anger. He wiped the spittle off of his cheek with a handkerchief, sparing the group of cowering servants only a half of a glance, and strode away.

Draco glared after his father's back, wondering whether he should follow him, but deciding against it. Wiping his chin, he realized that some of the servants had advanced and were timidly asking if Draco needed anything. He ordered them to fix him a hot bath and to bring in a beautiful girl and boy from the harems, each with a bottle of wine.

It truly was a beautiful day. The sun was shining, the skies were a forget-me-not blue, the birds were twittering happily, and the people! The people of the market square might as well have been in a musical, singing a merry song and dancing amongst themselves, arms hooked and grins wide.

Well, everyone was happy… save one boy. Harry James Potter was his name, and he was brooding darkly, as most young adults do out of habit. As he pushed his way through the crowd in the market, there seemed to be a shadow or some sort of cloud that hung over him. Had he been walking in a meadow of flowers, the flowers he walked over might have turned to ashes under his feet.

He stopped at the bread stand. A squat old lady was sitting underneath her makeshift tent, fanning herself and chewing on a plant. Her friend was sitting beside her, and was leaning forward. She was yapping away, obviously enjoying a good piece of gossip. They were both flushed from the heat of the oven not even a few feet away from them.

"Excuse me for a moment, Violet," the fat lady said as she got off her bench and waddled closer to the counter. A grin suddenly appeared on her face. "Why, if it isn't tall, dark, and handsome. Come over here, Violet, look at this young boy and tell me that if he would only smile once in a while, he would be the most handsome boy in town."

Violet peered closer and smirked. "Oh, he most definitely is one fine looker – makes me want to go back to my younger years. I bet you would look even better without those glasses," she beamed. "What's wrong with him?" she inquired of the fat lady when she realized that Harry didn't seem amused – he was impatient, if anything.

The fat lady had turned to get some bread off of a shelf. She knew Harry's exact order, seeing that he came there once a week on the same day at the same time for the same five bags of plain bread. She was wrapping the golden bread in plastic and shoving them into brown bags. "Oh, nothing is wrong with him, Violet. He's just shy, that's what I say to everyone that asks about him," she grinned at him as she handed him the bread. "And boy, do people ask about you." She raised an eyebrow at him. "A lot of people want to know why a handsome young lad like you is always alone…"

She paused dramatically, as if inviting Harry to answer the question. The only thing he did was shrug, however. He handed her the coins and nodded at the ladies, gratefully leaving.

He didn't seem to be fazed at all over the newly discovered information that strangers watched him and asked about him. No, instead he had gone back to his dark brooding. Now he would have to walk all the way back to the forest. He wasn't looking forward to the two hour walk back. The cloud seemed to grow darker. He was eighteen – an adult! – and yet he couldn't even go on any proper missions. No, he was the delivery boy, and that was all.

"Not yet, Harry," Remus would say gently.

"You'll get your chance," Tonks would say earnestly.

"Patience is virtue," Kingsley would advise wisely.

Harry glared as he kicked a stone away. He had been waiting patiently since he was ten years old! He was training for eight years! He was ready! Even Bill, Fred, and George agreed with him! He scowled. Why couldn't Ron or Ginny do the deliveries?

Something collided with his shoulder. He fell back. His back hit a stone wall, his head burst with pain. The bread dropped to the floor as his hands flew up to the back of his head. He tried to still his dizzy vision. He shook his head and dropped to his knees to pick up his bread, his glasses that fell – but his hands touched something else. It felt like a smooth stone. He found his glasses and shoved them back on his face. He stood up; peering at the red, smooth stone in his hand –

"HALT, THIEF!"

Harry froze. He dropped the stone and turned, but it was too late. The royal guards – green and silver sashes around their black uniform – were running towards him, rapiers unsheathed.


	2. chapter two

CHAPTER TWO

"Where is he?"

"Molly, you're going to get a head full of gray hairs by tomorrow morning if you don't stop worrying," Arthur said from the table. If furniture could talk, the dinner table would have been complaining loudly about the pitchers of water and juice, plates of pork roast, turkey, ham, baked macaroni and cheese, liver, salad, cranberry sauce, and pot chicken stew although it should have been grateful since the loaves of bread were absent.

"Oh, I don't know, Dad," one of the twins said with a full mouth of ham.

"Yeah," the other continued. He swallowed. "He left in a depressed state, he did."

"Maybe he jumped off of the bridge?" the other twin suggested with widened eyes.

"FRED/GEORGE!" the others at the table yelled.

"Molly," Tonks said in a soothing voice. She pushed herself away from the table, padded softly over to the worrying woman, and rested a hand on Molly's shoulder. She started to guide Molly away from the window she was standing at, peering out of. He hand was rubbing the side of her throat nervously. "I'm sure Harry is fine."

"Yeah. Looking at that weather, I'm betting he just decided to stay the night in some shelter," Charlie nodded his head at the window. As he spoke, some of the dark, ominous clouds in the distance burst into a momentary light. "The storm did come out of nowhere, after all, and Harry might've figured that it would be safer to stay somewhere until it's passed. You should stop worrying."

Everyone nodded, smiling at Molly. She looked at all of their unwavering smiles and sighed, finally allowing herself to be seated by Tonks. "You're right. If not sooner, Harry will definitely be back before dawn."

The twins exchanged a glance that only they could read.

It was about seven hours since dawn had passed and the sun was high in the blue sky, as if to make up for the violent storm from the previous night. It was a broiling day. There were no merry grins in the market today, merely frustrated and sweating faces. All of the men of the Weasley family, Remus, and Kingsley were out in the streets, searching desperately and consulting strangers about the tall teenage boy with tanned skin, unruly black hair, bright green eyes, and round glasses.

It was quite a while before any of them heard anything but, "I haven't seen him," and saw anything except for shaking heads. Ron, however, was highly excited and relieved finally when someone started nodding their head.

"Yes, if it's the same kid then I saw him this morning," the stranger said after Ron had finished his description, chewing on the end of a blade of grass. He was clutching a dead chicken in his hand, and when he lifted to point his hand yonder, white feathers flew everywhere. "He was before the public court this morning. I believe… no, no, I'm quite sure... He was ordered to become a slave to the Malfoy family. He should've been executed, though… That's what everyone thought." He looked disappointed for a moment, as if he'd lost a bet on a chariot race. "Now, if you'll excuse me this chicken must be delivered promptly..."

Ron's first reaction: damned bastard! You're acting as if you wanted Harry to be killed! (Forgetting that the damned bastard helped Ron and was the only one to even give him information on Harry.)

Ron's second reaction: public court? Oh nutcrackers; he did try to jump off of the bridge... Someone must've caught him before he could.

Ron's third reaction: but no, that can't be right… he was ordered to become a slave! That's one of the harshest punishments there are! Becoming a slave is meant only for murderers, war criminals, abusers, thieves...

Ron's fourth reaction: wait… did he say the MALFOY family?! THE Malfoy family, the very royal line that we're trying to destroy?

Ron's fifth reaction: ...Bloody hell.

"Bloody hell," Harry muttered from the line.

"Haven't I already told you to be quiet!" one of the guards barked, clouting Harry over the head with his fist that was as hard as iron.

Harry grimaced and glared at the guard. He wanted to rub his head, but his hands were shackled behind his back – as were all of the prisoners'. They were in a line in the center of the courtyard of – yes; you guessed it – Lucius Malfoy's castle. The courtyard's wall must've been at least twenty feet tall. Trees and plants lined the wall, and there were servants tending to them with vigor and expertise. There were a few curious servants that were watching the line of prisoners and even a few royals walking around, chin reaching for the skies. They didn't even look at the line of prisoners, and when they did, it was to eye them as if they were horse dung that was in the middle of their path.

Suddenly, the prisoner in front of Harry was being escorted down a path that led to slave quarters that were connected to the courtyard and Harry was being pushed forward towards a tiny desk with a squat man sitting behind it, short legs dangling from the seat. He glanced up from his long list of paper that overflowed from the desk and onto the stoned floor, his fluffy quill poised and ready, black ink dripping off of it and staining the parchment below it. He did a double take. He squinted at Harry. Motioned to the guard to turn Harry around. He shook his head so that white wig started to slide off of his head. He pushed the wig back into place with his puffy hands.

"The boy is too scrawny to be in the fields, yet too rough to be in the brothels," he said in a snobbishly squeaky voice. "Yet someone accused for thievery should most definitely not work within the castle."

Harry snarled. "I didn't steal anything – " 

Clout, grimace, "Shut up!"

"And defiant, too." The squat man shook his head. "He would have been more use to us if he were executed."

Harry would have liked to reply, "I would have rather been executed," but his head was aching and, with an insolent glare at the guard, he couldn't take another hit.

"Very well. He'll work in the kitchens, but make sure someone keeps an eye on him at all times. Next!"

Oh, the cruelty of Lucius Malfoy shocked even Harry at times.

"Are you listening?" Nod.

Surely he wouldn't have to worry. Surely his comrades would learn that he was within Malfoy's castle and rescue him.

"Do you understand?" Nod.

And even if they couldn't, he would eventually find a way out. He had to. In fact, it was that moment that Harry decided he couldn't wait for them to come to his rescue. He would escape as soon as possible.

"What are you waiting for?" someone hissed into his ear.

Harry blinked. He was within the broiling kitchens, holding platters of boiled fish, cooked to perfection. The people in front of him had started walking, and the people behind him were impatient. With a grunt, Harry started after the people in front of him, jogging slightly to catch up. His white shirt felt like it was giving off steam. His black breeches were uncomfortably tight and left little to no space for his privates. He knew the twins would be cackling if they ever saw Harry dressed like that.

He walked through the swinging doors and into the fancy dining hall, chandelier hanging dangerously over the long table with white cloth. There were many empty seats, yet the table managed to be spaced out nearly equally with the occupants. At one end of the table was Lucius Malfoy who was in a deep conversation with the hairy man at the other end of the table, someone Harry didn't recognize. Five seats beside Lucius was Narcissa Malfoy, and directly across from her was Draco Malfoy. Narcissa was smiling pleasantly, and Draco was glaring at his empty plate. There was another girl five seats beside Draco who was blushing and glancing at him every once in a while.

Harry didn't bother to keep the intense hatred out of his green eyes that burned like a demonic fire. What he wouldn't give to simply chuck the platter of food at Lucius Malfoy's face…

As he stopped beside Draco Malfoy, he put down the platter heavily, ignoring the fact that he was supposed to place it down elegantly and gently. He ignored the stares the royals sent at him, and further ignored the glares of the other servants. On impulse, as he backed away, he let his hand collide into a glass of wine, knocking it over and into Draco's lap. Draco gasped and pushed him away from the table, standing and having the glass fall to the floor and shatter. The wine was still dripping off of the stained white cloth that Draco was clothed in. Narcissa stood up and called for one of the servants. Lucius laughed nervously and sent a heated glare at Harry, who wasn't attempting to keep a small smile off of his face. The hairy man shifted in his seat and seemed impatient while the girl blushed and stood, seeming to think this as an opportunity to cling to Draco Malfoy.

Someone grabbed Harry's arm and started to tug him away painfully, yet the smile lingered. Within the kitchens, he was yelled at by the chef and nearly all of his peers. Even the squat man from earlier came in to make angry comments on Harry's defiance and demand that Harry be lashed until the smile came off of his face (it took nearly twenty lashes, mind you.)

Even after getting a verbal and physical lashing, Harry's smile lingered. He could only imagine everyone's faces, especially Ron's, when he would tell them that he spilled expensive wine into Draco Malfoy's lap.

And, staring up at the twenty foot wall in the darkness of the night, Harry was determined to see the looks on their faces that very night.

Draco was still in a furious mood because of the incompetent slave from dinner. It hadn't helped that his father had sealed Draco's future while he was changing in his bedroom. If all went as planned, Draco would marry Pansy by the end of the month, when he turned eighteen.

"Your marriage bring the two nations together," Lucius told him for the zillionth time. "It will make my nation stronger. Stop being so selfish."

How was he being selfish by thinking about his welfare (for surely he would go crazy if he spent enough time with the beast)? Pansy truly was a rather revolting girl. They'd gone to the same academy together when they were younger.

(There was a particular incident that would be good to note. The mentioned academy allowed only students of considerable wealth and royal blood to enroll, so it might not be too necessary for me to say that there weren't many students enrolled to the academy at all. In fact, young Draco Malfoy had the same five classmates from a young age to the age he was then: fourteen, though he definitely preferred to think of himself as fifteen, seeing how he was turning fifteen in less than a week.

Being as spoiled as ever, Draco Malfoy expected so many expensive gifts on his birthday that, if the gifts were all sold, and the profit given to charity, the problem of poverty would be solved – perhaps forever. However, there was only one gift that Draco wanted above all else: the loss of his virginity to another boy, more specifically; he had loss his virginity to girls ages ago.

In this particular story, Draco Malfoy was indeed as Lucius later claimed: selfish. Here's how:

Draco Malfoy had never seen such a beautiful boy. The thick, black hair, the large blue eyes, the full, luscious lips; he craved the thin waist, and even more so the slender neck. He wondered what the boy's skin felt like, he wondered what the boy's skin tasted like. Draco had long ago decided that it was this boy he wanted to lose his virginity to and who Draco would have lose his virginity to him. As I'm sure you know Draco Malfoy made sure he always got what he wanted. Sometimes, it was easy for him… but at times like these, it was very difficult indeed. For this boy was none other than Pansy Parkinson's personal indoor slave. One might think that Draco would think himself above a mere slave and not even consider sharing his bed with such lowly vermin, but the slave's beauty was so undeniably fierce that there were no such thoughts in Draco's mind.

How could Draco Malfoy possibly get this boy when the boy was locked within Pansy's rooms? It might've seemed impossible to an average teenager, and so they would have given up without hesitation.

Draco still had three days until his birthday, however, and wanted to spend his birth-night in bed with the lover in his dreams. As said, Draco Malfoy always got what he wanted.

He had already started working on his plan; Draco Malfoy was a genius when it came to creating and executing plans.

Everyone for miles and even farther knew that Pansy was absolutely smitten with the blonde; she idolized him, worshipped him, and when she was alone, would kiss her pillow and pretend that it was him. She also disgusted Draco as a human was disgusted by their own feces. She would be a useful pawn, however, and Draco was determined to get what he wanted.

He got to work immediately and approached Pansy and the only other female classmate of his. They were in the large courtyard, of course, sitting on their regular bench under the large tree that provided shade and bloomed sweet-smelling flowers. They had been giggling, and both were shocked when they realized that Draco had stopped beside them. A blush crept onto Pansy's face.

"Good day," he smiled, pleasantly enough. No one would have been able to guess that it took every muscle fiber in his face to force the smile.

Pansy didn't – couldn't – say anything. Instead, she swallowed and looked at him in awe as if she were looking at Heracles. Her friend, Millicent, grinned obnoxiously and said, "Hello," in a teasingly flirtatious tone. Pansy sent her a look that, apparently, only women or very close friends were able to interpret. The next moment, Millicent stood, looking downcast, and walked away with a pitiful explanation that her fish needed to be fed pitiful because the girl kept no fish.

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Draco asked.

Pansy nodded and stood instantly. She linked her elbow around Draco's and, having gotten over the shyness and stolen her tongue back from the cat, said, "Draco, we never spend anymore time together."

"We are now," Draco said with a small smirk. "I've been hideously busy, but now I have a break from my responsibilities; and I decided I wanted to spend every second of my break with you."

To say that she was surprised would be an understatement. "I thought you told me that you wanted nothing to do with me."

Draco nearly hesitated, but said smoothly, "I've come to my senses. I actually wanted to speak with you today to apologize and – " he feigned embarrassment, hesitation, "and ask if you would be… well, if you would like to have dinner with me tonight."

He finished lamely, yes, but he supposed that only lame people would truly be interested in Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy said yes instantly it was her reflex to take whatever was being offered immediately, but she was dazed, to say the least. It was only yesterday that Draco had acted like she was a slug he had stepped on, and simply would not come off of the bottom of his foot.

After spending an allegedly cheerful night together, Pansy advertised to anyone who would listen that she and Draco were officially together. She wasn't lying, either. For while they were bent over their exquisite banquet of quail, soups, bread, fresh salads, many desserts, and white wine, Draco had indeed confessed he felt an intense emotion for the girl. He admitted the truth: that he hadn't expected to feel so strongly about Pansy after spending the day with her letting these feelings be interpreted as however one might want to interpret them. He said softly that he perhaps even wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. By the end of the night, Pansy had given Draco the key to her rooms and smiled and waved off Draco's polite excuse that he hadn't expected Pansy to accept his emotions so openly and therefore hadn't brought a key to exchange.

Indeed, he hadn't expected her to give him her key so quickly. He completed his first mission within the first night. However, he decided to wait until his birth-night to have his fun, though that didn't stop him from entering and observing before then.

The boy had been scrubbing the tiles, arse pushed high into the air, when Pansy and Draco walked in, hand in hand. Later, when they were leaving, the boy was on his break and was trying to cool down by the fountains of naked frolicking children spitting water, wearing only a skimpy cloth around his waist, not leaving much for the imagination. His skin was glinting from sweat and he was panting slightly; who could blame him? Even the fair Draco was flushed from the heat of the day though the heat might not have only been the cause of his redness. The second day, for what seemed like hours Draco was unashamedly gazing at the oblivious boy as he went about his business; if the boy had known that Draco would be there, he might've put on more clothing.

The third night, Draco's birthday, Pansy said that she was going to take Draco out. The destination was his choice. Draco chose the plaza; it was an extraordinary street, lined with shops and had a grand theater in the center. To get to the plaza would take two hours; the shows usually took just as long; and then to get back would take another two hours, and undoubtably Pansy would want to take a walk after that. If Draco were to go, they would spend their entire afternoon and night out together. If Draco did not go, he would have approximately five to six hours to himself having also estimated the amount of time Pansy would stand around, waiting for him.

They decided they would meet at the theater's entrance, since Draco allegedly had some business to take care of first. "But worry not, my love," he assured her. "I will see you at the theater, and we'll have a night together that will make memories."

The very night Draco had spoken of, he spent driving himself in between the boy's legs who was howling loud enough to wake the dead. They had so many rounds that they were still going when it was getting close to the time of Pansy's return; and after that, Draco took the boy back to his own rooms to continue the experimenting and pleasuring.

The very next day, he outright looked at Pansy as if she were nothing more than scum when she asked why he was not at the theater, and she wailed and cried and latched onto him after finding the truth that he did not love her anymore. She would not believe it, she would not accept it; she still held onto Draco's sweet words.

So now you might understand Draco and Pansy's relationship to a higher degree; at least, better than if I were to simply tell you, "Draco disliked Pansy although Pansy loved Draco." You might also see the extent of Draco's selfishness and insensitivity. Back to the scene from before: Draco had been contemplating his relationship with Pansy, and the dreadful fact that he might have to marry her.)

The thought of her bearing his children made him want to castrate himself. All right, perhaps not go to such extreme measures, but he did have to do something about it – and fast.

He couldn't think within his chambers, and so he decided to take a walk around the castle. He didn't have a plan formulated even as he was reaching the courtyard, his final destination before returning to the castle, and finally his bedchambers. He had ideas, such as running away, or claiming he was ill, but knew that none would get him out of this nightmarish marriage.

With a sigh, he landed on the final step and paused, feeling as if he was trying to deal with his midlife crisis. Maybe it WAS his midlife crisis. After all, take a look at who he was about to MARRY –

What was that?

There, in the shadows.

It seemed to be a person that was trying to climb a tree.

Draco stalked over silently, keeping his eyes on the figure all the while. The person was getting rather far up the tree, and suddenly Draco realized what he was trying to do. He wanted to climb up the tree so that he could climb over the wall. He was trying to escape.

Draco smirked.

"Good evening," he called out.

The rustling suddenly stopped, and not a moment later there was the sound of something scraping against bark. A second later, the body fell from the tree and landed on the ground heavily, directly in front of Draco.

For a moment, Draco thought the person might've been dead. The tree was tall, after all, and the person had been rather high when he'd fallen to the stoned floor. He groaned, however, and started to push himself off of the ground.

The unruly black hair, tanned skin, green eyes – glasses that were on the ground and cracked…

Draco nearly snarled. It was the incompetent slave from earlier that very evening.

"I ought to have you put to death," the blonde said bitterly. He didn't think so only because he'd caught the slave trying to escape; but also because it was this slave's fault that he'd left the dining room, thus leaving his father free to make decisions for his future.

The slave had stopped searching the ground for his glasses as he recognized the vicious voice. In the most sardonic tone he could muster, he said, "Death, _sir_, is preferred to working for _you_, _sir_."

But goodness, there had never been a more defiant slave! Draco's glare grew darker as he watched the slave find his glasses, put them on, and stand up to face him. He was almost grateful that he was marrying Pansy, now. Imagine if he had to marry this disobedient, this insolent –

And that's when it happened. That's when Draco's plan, his rescue from his midlife crisis, stole him away from the fiery depths of the end of life as he knew it.

AN: Tell me what you thought! … Please? I'll accept anything… flaming, compliments, ideas… I'm sorry if there were a lot of typos. I've been possessed by the typo demon. xx


	3. chapter three

CHAPTER THREE

Ron was supposed to go, but Molly wasn't sure she could've handled the loss of a second son to the Malfoy family (for she considered Harry one of her own, seeing that she practically raised him.) While Ron sulked and sent irritated glares after his mother, Remus bade them farewell, nodding at all of the usual reminders: if he's seen, don't run, claim simply that he's a servant or something to that nature; if he's caught, make sure he's dead before giving away any of the Order's dire secrets… you know, the simple things like that.

It was easy to sneak onto the Malfoy castle grounds. Being one of the older members of the Order, he knew a lot about the castle and its secret passages. I would tell you exactly how he ended up in the courtyard, but – well – it's a secret, and if you knew Remus would have to kill you. He definitely wouldn't want to, but he would have to.

He had just been making his way towards the slaves' makeshift buildings (he couldn't think of anywhere else Harry might've been), when he heard voices. One of them sounded suspiciously similar to Harry's.

He stepped into the shadows of a tall oak tree and he looked around the seemingly empty courtyard he was about to cross. Sure enough, he could see the ragged outline of Harry – the tall, slim limbs and messy hair were easy to recognize, even from such a distance – as he was being led into the castle by another shadow. His heart skipped a beat when he noticed that the teen was limping. Personally, he wasn't too worried, for he knew that Harry could take care of himself in most situations, but he couldn't help but feel a bit terrified at the thought of Molly's reaction if she were to find out that Harry was hurt.

He hesitated – he hadn't expected to enter the castle itself – but he knew he had to get the urgent message to Harry. Beyond even that, Harry and he were close; he wanted to see if the boy was all right. He followed silently and quickly up the stairs and through the large doors, slipping in before the heavy doors could close behind them properly. If anyone were watching, they wouldn't have seen anything but a glance of a shadow, and by the time they would've done a double take, the shadow would've disappeared. His ears were tuned carefully to the conversation Harry was having with the other person who he couldn't quite recognize. Their feet were echoing off of the high stoned walls where portraits of old, ugly men were hung.

"You're off your bloody knackers!"

"You ought to be content with the fact that I'm not having you hung."

The arrogant voice was so familiar to Remus for some reason…

"Get one of your damned slaves to do it!"

"There isn't enough time to go looking for another person. Besides, you are one of my damned slaves, you imbecile."

Remus's foot collided with the leg of a table that was pressed to the wall of the hall. It made an echoing noise. Malfoy's son and Harry turned, but Remus had already dived behind the table, barely breathing behind the thick white cloth that hung over it.

"What was that?" Harry asked, stepping closer to investigate, but Malfoy grabbed his arm and spun him around.

"I have no time to find out what it was. Let's go. Now."

"Damn it, why are you so THICK?! I refuse, I absolutely refuse – I would rather DIE and burn in hell for all eternity – "

"This again?" Malfoy growled to himself as Harry continued his ranting. "You're wasting my time."

There was the sound of metal scraping against metal ("shing!") as Malfoy unsheathed his rapier casually. Harry stepped back as Malfoy smirked and calmly pointed it at Harry. "What's this? I thought you said you would rather die. I expected you to be jubilant, yet instead you look nervous."

Remus was just about ready to jump out from his hiding place to knock the weapon away when Malfoy said thoughtfully, "Let's make a deal."

Harry had the feeling that he had no choice but to agree with this deal. Looking at the sharp tip of the rapier that was pointed straight at his heart, he could do nothing but nod. He had a temper, yes, but that didn't mean that he was stupid.

"You will do as I say and help me get out of this little problem of mine," Draco said slowly, "and I won't kill you."

Harry was about to nod again when an idea popped into his mind. "I'll do as you say," he said, equally as slowly, with that little edge of defiance, "and you will give me my freedom afterwards."

A fair eyebrow rose and there was a hesitant pause. "We'll see."

Remus took a deep, steady breath as the rapier was sheathed once more.

"Hurry up," Malfoy snapped, tugging Harry along as if the feud hadn't even occurred. "You've wasted enough time as it is."

Harry allowed himself to be tugged along by Malfoy for the longest while. Remus was become tenser and tenser by the second. He hadn't quite gotten over the shock that it was Malfoy's only son and heir who was with Harry. His worried mind anxiously asked questions like, "What the hell is Malfoy planning on doing with Harry, and will I have to fail my mission by blowing my cover in order to save Harry from a terrible fate?" And what was this, about Malfoy using Harry to help him get out of a problem? It made no sense, even to Remus who was a scholar of sorts.

Usually, he was the one to stay at headquarters and plan missions, interpret and analyze senior Malfoy's decisions to promote his tyrannical rule, and others things of that nature. Because of Molly's interference, however, Ron, Fred, and George weren't allowed to creep past guards to pass on information. Because that used to be Remus's field of work – when he was a young, healthy boy, anyway – he decided he would complete the boys' usual missions for the night. That is, until Molly was calmed down and comforted enough to let her sons continue their work.

After rushing down a last flight of elegant stairs, they suddenly stopped. They were in a wide hall with a low ceiling (at least, low enough for a fairly tall person to jump up a few feet and touch). Pillars gave the illusion that, if the pillars were to be knocked down, everything would crash down on top of them. At last, the walls and floor wasn't made of stones; or, if they were, the wall was covered by red and gold plaster; the floor, by thick, rich red carpet, which was covered by rugs with intricate patterns. There were gorgeous antiques decorating the hall, such as golden lamps and sensual candles. On a desk that was pushed to the side of the wall, there was a collection of jewels. There were framed paintings of sensually beautiful men and women, reclining on couches and beds. Both Harry and Remus flushed as they noticed that some of these men and women were quite naked indeed.

"Stay here," Malfoy ordered. He walked over towards a wide, oak door and knocked with a brass knocker one, two, three times.

It opened a few moments later, and there was a politely annoying giggle from an unseen body. "Oh, Draco! You haven't visited in such a long time – "

The voice was immediately shut off as the door closed behind them. Remus figured this might be his only chance.

"Harry!" he hissed from behind a pillar, which glinted from the numerous beaded jewels snaking around it.

The poor boy looked like he had a heart attack. He jumped high into the air and whipped his head around.

"It's all right, Harry, it's only me," the older man said gently.

"Remus?!" Harry looked bewildered as he saw the man step out from behind the pillar. His hand was clutching his chest where his heart was rapidly beating. "What the hell are you - ?!"

"I don't have much time," Remus interrupted quickly and apologetically. "I must pass this on to you."

He had already reached into his pocket where a piece of paper held the following message, which Harry read quickly: stay where you are until further notice; if you try to escape you will definitely be caught (guards are literally lined up along the outside of the courtyard walls) and you will be realized…

Harry knew that if he was realized as a traitor to the nation, he would be executed immediately.

…Instead, use this situation for spying. Gather as much information on the Malfoy's as possible. A spy in disguise will come to you periodically to take the information you've gathered back to head quarters. Meanwhile, everyone at headquarters will be planning to create an efficient rescue plan. Only when you are given orders are you to do anything other than what you've been told.

Harry dead panned.

"I know this is difficult, Harry," Remus put a hand on Harry's shoulder as he carefully took the note back. "But you really have no choice. It's safer to remain where you are. Besides," he offered a tired smile, "haven't you always wanted the chance to be on an important mission?"

Harry couldn't even nod. Here he was, thinking that perhaps he was being rescued, wouldn't have to go through with this ridiculous plan to be given his freedom…

"Are you all right?"

Harry made a noise from the back of his throat.

"Someone will visit occasionally to make sure you're okay," he said in an assuring tone.

"But Remus, if you managed to get pass the guards, then surely I can – "

"It's dangerous and risky as it is for one person to sneak by. For two to do so is nearly impossible."

"But – "

"Listen, Harry, I have to go – "

"Wait," Harry said, grabbing Remus's hand. "I have to tell you something."

"What is it?" Remus turned back.

"This evening, I spilled red wine into Draco Malfoy's lap."

Remus's eyes widened and he let out a bark of laughter, which was a sign that he truly had been around the late Sirius Black for too long. He regretted it and bit his tongue, choking back the hearty chuckles. "Dear Gods, Harry – don't tell me that you're following him because you're about to be punished."

"Nope," Harry shook his head. "I was already." He turned around and lifted his shirt so that Remus could see the angry red welts on Harry's back.

"Oh, Harry…" Remus was frowning. He obviously didn't feel very happy about leaving him there. Harry dropped his shirt and turned back to Remus.

"I'm okay, though, really – "

The door opened. Remus disappeared behind the pillar and Harry spun around.

"Who were you talking to?" Draco Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow. He was standing there beside a stranger dressed in nothing but a blue cloak.

"Myself," Harry said quickly, his eyes landing on the boy that was standing beside Draco. Harry felt himself flush slightly. Though Harry definitely wouldn't have known, it would be fair to have the reader realize that the boy that was standing beside Draco was none other than the slave Draco seduced while he was in the academy. It would seem that the slave boy never returned to Pansy's rooms.

"This is Blaise Zabini," Draco said absently. "He'll be helping us."

The boy named Blaise was eyeing Harry with obvious distaste. "Why him, Draco? I would have done better." He had a thick accent (what the reader might consider is a French accent) that made it hard for Harry to understand him.

"Everyone would recognize you," Draco replied.

Blaise didn't bother to hide the jealousy that burned in his eyes.

(For the reader's convenience, it would be good of you to note the intensity of Blaise's jealousy. As said before, Blaise never returned to Pansy. Draco – kidnapped him, I suppose would be the fair word although Blaise didn't object at all. Shortly after the kidnapping, Blaise became infamously known as Draco Malfoy's little whore, among both the peasants in the streets and the higher classes. Pansy became furious and embarrassed, but she made only three attempts at taking Blaise back. I suppose you could consider it what she deemed was revenge, trying to claim back what was rightfully hers. After the third attempt, Draco, fed up with the girl's insistence, sent her a bag of coins in exchange for Blaise. Blaise officially became his little pet.

The gossip of this scandal spread like wild fire amongst everyone, especially the peasants the higher class royalty would often pretend to be above behavior such as gossip. Some said that it was just a rebellious phase Draco would soon get over, as many teenagers did in the beginning stages of their adolescence.

His father and his reaction is a completely different issue that would probably take too much time to get into. I will simply say this: he had male lovers when he was young also, yet he was the most embarrassed and upset of all at Draco's, "phase." This hypocrisy made Draco red with rage, as I'm sure you can imagine.

While father and son would spend hours yelling at each other, the other family royals and royals who were visiting didn't dare say anything to Draco's face. In fact, the only thing most of them did to suggest that they disapproved of these actions was look at the whore in disgust and refuse to acknowledge him in any way other than that. There were the scattered few that would hiss insults at Blaise while no one else was listening.

Blaise did get upset at times. Who wouldn't? People often become offended by the truth. Deep down, he knew that he was nothing but Draco's sex slave, but he preferred to consider himself Draco's respectable lover. It was just as Bagoas once became offended greatly by a man who came to honor Alexander. When he was ordered to honor Bagoas instead, he replied bitterly, "I came to honor Alexander the Great; not his whore." Bagoas was so upset that he had Alexander execute the man.

Do you know anything of Alexander the Great and his whore, Bagoas? Of course, Draco and Blaise wouldn't, seeing that they're in alternate universes, but perhaps you could compare Draco to Alexander and Blaise to Bagoas.

Bagoas, a eunuch, was once the slave and lover of a Persian enemy, Darius, but once the Persian enemy was defeated, Alexander saw Bagoas and took him home as his own. Alexander had many lovers, but Bagoas was unique. Bagoas received many gifts from Alexander, besides his love. Alexander granted Bagoas a separate estate. Festivals were even thrown in his name.

The relationship was rather similar between Draco and Blaise, besides the related positions of roles. As you know, Draco took Blaise, a slave, from another territory and claimed Blaise as his own. Draco had more lovers than he could keep track of, but Blaise alone he let sleep in his room after making love. Don't think that's such a big deal? Believe me, it is. Draco at times would rip another person's virginity from him or her, then throw him or her out into the rain to stagger away to find shelter without a second thought.

His bed and his chambers were private to him. They were a place of utter tranquility; it's where he went when he wanted to be alone or when he was too lonely. It was his shrine of peace. He thought of his room as a place for him to seek sanctuary when the outside world seemed like anarchy. It was the only area throughout the entire castle that he thought of as more than just an area; it was his home. To share that with Blaise after having sex meant more than you could possibly realize.

Beyond that, he invited Blaise on trips to erotic islands and historical sites. Every now and then, Draco would give Blaise gifts, and nothing that could be held lightly. His smallest gift to Blaise was a gold necklace with a sapphire on the end of it, to match the boy's blue eyes. Shortly after Blaise once expressed his interest in stories that focused on war, Draco gave Blaise an entire section of his library, the section being war novels.

And yet Blaise could never be satisfied. He was an eternal drought on a desert plain, constantly expecting and needing Draco's love and gifts and access to his bed. He was always very easily thrown into jealousy. There was a time when Draco messed around with a particular boy on more than one occasion, and shortly after, the boy had turned up badly beaten, his face permanently disfigured. He would've died hadn't he been given medical attention.

Draco was suspicious that it had been Blaise's doing, but he never followed through on any form of investigation whatsoever. He merely began to slowly but surely stop showing Blaise the attention he once gave him. Frankly, he would always love Blaise's body that is, as long as it was young, but he was tired of Blaise's clingy nature from the start. It was no loss to Draco, really. Yes, he loved Blaise, though he would never admit it to himself, but he didn't need this love, and he didn't need the love to be returned. He ignored it, to put it simply, and began ignoring Blaise except for times like these when he really needed him. Blaise, of course, wasn't too happy, but what could he do?

If you've already forgotten, the scene before this polite interruption was Draco introducing a jealous Blaise to Harry within the erotic hallway.)

Harry looked between Blaise and Draco, who had started to argue over the situation. ("I could wear make-up!" "Makeup would never hide your true features. A wig and some powder would do nothing for you.") Gods, he didn't even know how to react to this. He knew that if he followed through, he would have a chance to become free, perhaps even before Remus returned with the rescue plan… yet this was a nightmare, an absolute nightmare. This definitely wasn't how he pictured his first mission.

"Let's go," Draco said swiftly.

"Go where?" Blaise asked.

"My rooms, where the hell do you think?"

Blaise was about to retort that his rooms were private, but Draco had already sauntered off. Instead, he decided to throw Harry a heated, scrutinizing gaze before following Draco quickly. Harry looked behind him, at the pillar, but he knew that Remus had already left. He hadn't even been able to ask Remus to pass on the story to the others… With a sigh, Harry followed the other two up the staircase.

The candle flickered proudly in the darkness of the night. A steady breeze came in through the balcony doors, chilling the room and making Goosebumps rise all over Harry's tanned skin. Draco had provided him with a heavy quilt and a pillow so that he could sleep relatively comfortably on the floor, but Harry hadn't thought to wear the quilt around his shoulders as he held the candle holder and skimmed through the blonde's journal. A lot of what was written was about his father's plans, all of it being information the order already knew about. Him wanting to build a larger army, wanting to traitor a neighboring ally and make the entire population his slaves… Harry snorted as he read Draco's opinion: basically, that his father was a cretin if he truly believed this entire population would become slaves willingly, the ally didn't suspect what he would do, and if he figured the men to build this army would pop out of thin air.

Glancing back at the large bed with the heavy, translucent draperies, Harry attempted to peer through the darkness to see if the Lord's son was truly asleep. He wouldn't want to be caught looking at the journal. Perhaps Draco wouldn't come to the instant conclusion that Harry was a spy, but he would have to think of something to explain himself. Content enough that he was in dreamland, he bent over and began reading the page in the journal he had seen Draco writing in earlier than evening before pushing it onto his shelves.

The writing was neat, legible, and – dare he think it? – beautiful. If Ron knew that he'd thought something along those lines, he would probably start reconsidering his position as Harry's best friend. Harry let his long, thin fingers ghost over the page and brought the candle closer.

Tonight, there was nothing about Lucius's idiotic and political quests. Instead, it started off simply by saying he started the morning with an interesting debate with his tutor. More details through out the day, boring and having nothing to do with the story at hand, and then finally it came to what Harry had been looking for.

A slave – I've only now realized I never asked for his name – was found earlier this evening, attempting to escape over the twenty-foot wall surrounding the courtyard. Really, he's lucky I came along. If I hadn't, he and his guts would be spread across the courtyard floor right now instead of pretending not to watch me from across my bedroom. He's now part of my plan to get out of my evil marriage with Parkinson. It's a plan my three-year-old nephew would come up with, yet it's also original. It'll keep me amused, at the very least. I think my father might be expecting an elaborate plan filled with affairs of state, with me perhaps presenting a number of laws and rules showing reasons why I can't marry Parkinson. I could do something like that, but it would be too boring and would take too much time. I know my father can decide at this very moment that he wants me to marry Parkinson in the next hour if he wanted to. That's why I've decided to eliminate her immediately. I needed a reason why I couldn't marry her, I realized quickly, so my first stop was to get Blaise. I interviewed him this evening about what it was like being Pansy's slave. He couldn't remember much, though he did seem to recall that girls were always with her, the snot Millicient being among them.

Now, this is entirely immature and below my level, I must agree, but it really does make perfect sense to claim that Pansy is a lesbian, doesn't it? Tomorrow morning, bright and early, I'll burst into my father's office and start raving about how I refuse to marry a lesbian. Blaise has already promised to testify against her. My father would agree, seeing that he believes that a wife ought to be focused on her husband. If Pansy was a lesbian, she would most likely be focusing more on my mother more than on me.

After the marriage is called off, my father will want to marry me off as quickly as possible, and to a girl whose family is powerful and owns wealthy lands. He'll instantly think of Bordeaux, I suspect. I'll have Hermione quickly suggest that a romantic ball is thrown as an occasion in order to change the course of the peasants' gossip. At this ball, I'll allegedly meet the perfect girl – who will, of course, be the slave dressed up as a lady. Hermione will also have to create foreign lands, of course. My father is fool enough to believe such lies, I'm sure. Either way, the slave and I will quickly marry before my father could find the truth about anything: the fake lands, the slave not being a royal lady, etc. By then, we would be married and it would be too late for him to do anything about it. We wouldn't be allowed to divorce, I won't be able to produce an heir with a man, and so, in the end, I won't be able to succeed my father. Brilliant, yes? But of course it is, seeing that it's my plan.

TBC...

AN: Please tell me what you thought? Do you like the direction this story is headed? I'm sorry to everyone out there that absolutely HATES it when people use Blaise, since he's not a real character, just a mentioned name…


	4. chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR

The castle was in an absolute uproar before breakfast had even been properly set on the table. It was only when a royal was anywhere in sight that the servants did what they were supposed to. Servants ran to and fro between stations to spread the joyous news instead of attending to their duties (for they detested Pansy passionately for her snobby and bossy attitude.)

By noon Pansy, in tears, was leaving the castle grounds, ushered by her livid, red-faced father. Draco stood near by with the royals that were shaking their heads and murmuring amongst themselves. All of them saw this as a scandal. None of them would have ever guessed that Pansy was a lesbian.

Draco watched with a poorly-disguised smirk of satisfaction. Even if the rest of his plan failed – hell, even if assassins murdered his father and sold Draco into sex slavery – he wouldn't have to marry Pansy. Please, give him a moment to bask in that reflection.

Meanwhile, Harry was within Draco's chambers, wrapped in the thick quilt and staring out of the window, despite the blonde's orders to stay away from it. He didn't want to risk Harry being seen, after all, since the only person who knew about Harry, other than himself, was Blaise.

Blaise had draped himself over Draco's couch, idly inspecting the sapphire on a ring that was hung around his neck from a silver chain, glinting in the sunlight that poured in from the open balcony and windows. He was ordered to keep an eye on the slave, to make sure he did everything Draco told him to (such as staying away from the windows), but at that moment he was pretending not to notice Harry.

Needless to say, the thick tension that haunted the air swamped the room. Oh, but I suppose it would be necessary to say. You wouldn't know the scene that had unfolded the moment Blaise was led into the room by his prince. The fact that a jealous Blaise was stuck in the same room with a wary Harry should be enough reason for such tension, though.

Draco left to watch Pansy's departing after giving his strict instructions. The moment the door shut with a snap, Blaise turned to Harry with an almost gentle smile. However, one should realize that Blaise was actually the serpent beneath the rose (a reference to Shakespeare's Macbeth, though Blaise would know nothing of that play.)

Though Harry didn't immediately realize Blaise had evil intentions beneath the smile, he hadn't forgotten the heated gazes Blaise threw at him for the entirety of the previous night. He hesitated before smiling back. It wasn't a kind smile he forced onto his face, either. It turned out to be sardonic, though Harry hadn't initially meant for it to come out that way.

There was a pause where it seemed cold air seeped into the room. As he trudged over to the far corner of the room to fetch his quilt, he was startled that Blaise had begun to speak to him – and civilly, at that.

"How are you?" was a large contrast to what he'd said last night ("But he's foul and ugly!")

"I'm good, thanks."

"Did you sleep well? Draco said he only let you sleep on the floor. Wasn't that uncomfortable and cold?"

Harry wrapped the old, stained quilt tightly around his shoulders but didn't answer.

Blaise smiled and draped himself over the couch, his blue eyes matching the intricate design on the soft fabric. The black silk he wore matched his body perfectly. There was no denying, especially in that particular outfit, that he was a very beautiful boy indeed. "I'm sorry if I was terribly rude last night. I don't know what came over me."

Harry accepted the apology politely.

"Come over here. What was your name again? I'm afraid Draco never told me."

That's because he never asked. "It's Harry."

"Just Harry? No last name?"

Of course he had a last name. He wasn't going to tell Blaise what it was, though, for fear that Blaise might have recognized it and reported it to Jr. Malfoy, who might report it to Sr. Malfoy, who would then execute Harry without a moment's hesitation. (Of course, the chances of that happening was zero to none.)

"Yeah, that's right."

"Come closer."

Harry did so, but not too closely. He stayed a good distance of measure away from the couch.

"Draco's right. When I take a really good look at you, you're not half-bad looking at all. In fact, I would say you look even slightly attractive. Sure, your tanned skin is the sign of a peasant, and your hair seems like it has a life of its own, but your eyes…"

Blaise paused and looked even closer.

"It's almost as if I never expected your eyes to be so green. It's a shame they're hidden away behind those foul glasses."

Harry flushed under the heaviness of the attention he was getting and looked away.

"Draco thinks you're rather attractive."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. He told me a lot last night, about what he thinks."

Before going to bed, Draco and Blaise had spent some time together, speaking in a language Harry couldn't understand. And intimately, at that. For the entirety of the conversation, Blaise was leaning against Draco, and from the corner of Harry's eye he could see Blaise flirtatiously twining a blonde strand of hair around his finger. Harry was almost positive that, hadn't he been there, their private talk would've led to – well, you know.

"Wouldn't you like to know what he thought? What his plan is for you?"

Harry's eyes flashed up. Blaise had been staring at him intensely. Harry knew already because – had Blaise somehow found out? No… impossible. There was no way he could have known that Harry had read Draco's journal. "No, that's all right. I can do without knowing."

"I almost feel sorry for you," Blaise smiled without acknowledging that Harry had said anything. "You've become a pawn in Draco's amusing game."

Harry merely raised his eyebrows in mock, "wow!" and shuffled away as a hint that he didn't want to listen to Blaise's heavily accented voice anymore. He gazed at the shelves and shelves of dark, leather-bound books. He noticed the journal – a small book with a golden cover – among volumes of epics.

"He's like that sometimes – an immature child," Blaise added as if in after thought. He was casually running his hand through his thick black curls. "But oh! He's so romantic and clever as well. I don't suppose you would know anything about him, since you've only just met him. And you peasants in the streets have all decided to make him and his father seem like tyrants, which they aren't. After all, they've fed and protected you and your families for generations. No, I don't suppose you would know the real him."

Harry's blood nearly boiled over at that proclamation, though no one would know that except the readers and me, the narrator. He kept his facial expression blank and composed. (I'm sorry that interrupting this story is becoming a fast habit of mine, but for your own benefit I thought you would like to know a little bit more about Harry's past. About why he would be so angry at such a proclamation, you understand. If you don't want to know, you may skip down to continue reading the story, though I'm not sure much of Harry's motives and intentions would make sense to you if you did.

But first! I have to tell you a little something about the Malfoy family. I'm sorry if it becomes slightly boring, for it deals with a political issue, but don't run away! I'll make it brief.

For generations upon generations, the Malfoy's have been Lords, serving the highest ruler of all the land. I'll give you three guesses as to who that highest ruler is.

As Lord, a Malfoy can and will do as he wishes with his peasants. There was once an entire massacre of chosen women and children for the Lord Malfoy's pleasure, though that must have been hundreds and hundreds of years ago. Overall, the Lord Malfoy's main job is to collect money, crop, and trade benefits from the peasants each year. The peasants work their asses off to pay in time, as I'm sure you can imagine. However, there are sometimes certain Lords, such as Lord Lucius Malfoy, who will collect and then have his royal guard steal from the peasants, killing anyone who defies. The killing usually goes on to any innocent bystander who was, "in the way," or raping any girl or boy who, "looked at the royal guard without respect."

Many peasants have tried to leave the Malfoy's in search of a better place, but could find none. For nearly every single province was under the rule of a Lord who served Voldemort, and therefore every single province was in the same situation as the one the peasants had just escaped, or was even worse. And Blaise had a point: it's a dangerous world outside of the protected walls of a province. Tribes of migrants are slaughtered by bandits and wild animals every day. But to stay within a province was no better, as I have just described. The common people were, essentially, trapped.

That's why the Order was created.

This rebellious organization is a lot bigger than the small group hidden away in Lord Malfoy's territory, I'll tell you that right off the bat. There are about three groups of rebels in each province under each Lord – yes, all 150 of them. And the Order is still building by the moment.

It just so happens that Harry's group is specialized in spying. The other two groups within the province… well, who knows what their specialty is? When I say the Order is secretive, I _mean_ it's secretive. It has to be, to protect itself from traitors and the enemy. Not many people who join the Order know a lot about it, only that they are helping the common good of mankind and what their specific assignments are. Hell, Harry doesn't even know what the Order hopes to accomplish though I'll tell you now, the Order hopes to overthrow Voldemort and put Albus Dumbledore in his place. He just knows that it's an organization against Lord Malfoy. That's all the matters to him.

Why?

Well, as cliché as in sounds – oh, but it's absolutely tragic as well:

You see, Harry's father, James, was a spy for the Order, along with Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. They were young and helplessly romantic with life, as men in their early 20's tend to be, and thought that they could save the world by helping the Order. This made them recklessly courageous. It was on a certain mission where all three of them were involved that Sirius was caught by the royal guard. Oh, James and Remus escaped all right, but they couldn't do anything to help Sirius. Their best friend and confidant was executed the next morning. I know I don't do the memory of Sirius any justice by simply summarizing what had happened to him.

James and Remus took a step back because of what happened to Sirius, analyzing their lives. By being members of the Order, they wished to save the world; but now, after being unable to even save their best friend they realized that saving the world was very complicated. They wouldn't be able to handle such a large responsibility.

What would they be able to handle? What did they want to become? Where did they want to go from there?

Remus decided that he wanted to continue working for the Order, but not only to avenge Sirius, but also because he didn't know what else to do with his life. He really had no choice anyway. In a moment I'll come to why.

James decided that he wanted to quit and settle down with Lily Evans, whom he had always known and loved since childhood. He wanted to marry her, have a child with her, and live peacefully – not risk his life every moment for spying for the Order. Don't think him cowardly for finally wanting to live his life.

However, there's only a one way ticket into the Order. Once you join, you can't quit. That helped to prevent traitors from leaving and trading information.

Now, Lily knew nothing about the Order. James was never allowed to tell her. She didn't understand why James suddenly wanted to leave the province one seemingly peaceful night, taking their sleeping, infant son with them. She didn't want to go. She loved James for his nature for wanting to have adventures, but suddenly leaving the province was taking things a bit too far in her eyes.

James, insistent and persuasive as ever, eventually got her to pack a few of their belongings – food that wouldn't rot immediately, clothing and shoes, etc. – to take to the carriage, but before they could make it outside a few members of the royal guard banged down the door. With a mother's instinct, Lily ran, hiding her sleeping baby carefully in a basket full of cloth. They were both arrested for treason, and no matter how much Remus begged to have both of them rescued, they were publicly executed the next morning.

Harry, still an infant, was taken from the basket by Remus, who gave Harry to Molly Weasley to be raised alongside her other children. Harry grew up with the knowledge that his parents were murdered because of the Malfoy family. The need for revenge clouded his mind at a young age. This is why he detests the Malfoy family so much. I apologize for not showing his hatred so much throughout the story thus far. It might've become repetitive, however – his hatred is so great, it would have consumed nearly ever thought he'd had to this point.

Remus never shared his suspicion with anyone that the Order gave away James so that he and Lily would be executed. After all, it was extremely risky for the Order to have a spy run away with his wife and child. But perhaps Remus was wrong; perhaps the royal guard figured out James was a spy on their own.

Yes, perhaps…

Previously, Harry and Blaise were in Draco's chambers, awaiting his return.)

"I caution you not to fall in love with him." Blaise meant Draco, of course.

"Why? Because he's already yours?" It slipped out before Harry could even process that he'd been thinking such a thing. Shouldn't he have said that it was highly unlikely that something like that would happen?

"Yes," Blaise laughed outright. "Yeah, that's one reason, but it's also because you can't trust someone like him, especially when he has your heart. He'll break it in a second, without reason besides wanting to see you fall apart. He's rather miserable, Draco Malfoy." Bitterness.

Harry didn't need Blaise to tell him that.

"And you know, once he's finished with you and his little game he won't need you anymore."

The sentence hung. For some reason, Harry felt the need to become defensive. "He said he's going to set me free afterwards."

"Did he, really?" Blaise shrugged. "That seems out of character. I would think that he would simply behead you."

Blaise wasn't lying to scare Harry. No, it was indeed the truth, something that Harry hadn't thought of himself. And why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't Draco behead Harry when he was through with him? Though it might seem an act of extremity to an outsider, Draco had tyrant's blood in him; tyrants were well known for beheading people when they weren't needed. And didn't Draco threaten to have Harry killed twice already?

He didn't say anything. He merely walked over to the window, weighted down with thought of what Blaise had said.

The door opened eventually and Draco flounced in, highly pleased with himself. Locking the door behind him, he went to the couch and shoved Blaise's feet off to make space for himself.

"What're you doing by the window?" he snapped, though he didn't feel very angry at all. On the contrary, he was in good, high spirits. You know why.

Harry turned his head and looked at Draco. Draco looked back, an eyebrow raised.

"What's wrong with the slave?" Draco asked, glancing at the other. Blaise smiled and shrugged.

"Perhaps he's homesick?"

Blaise knew that wasn't the reason at all.

...

A week and three days later, the ball was scheduled to happen when the stars appeared in the night sky and the moon was luscious and full. As you can imagine, the streets were bustling excitedly earlier that day. Golden carriages made way up the cobblestone roads towards the castle. The only Lord's daughter for miles around who wasn't attending the magnificent ball was Pansy.

In short, it was just like the tale of Cinderella, minus the pumpkin carriages, Fairy Godmothers, and glass slippers.

During the time leading up to the ball, Harry hadn't seen much of his blonde host. He only saw him in the morning when he woke up and at night when Draco would return to the chambers. When that happened, they wouldn't speak much. A polite exchange of, "Good night," when Draco wasn't in a dreadful mood was the extent, really.

Despite what you might think, Harry didn't go crazy with boredom during the days while he was imprisoned within the room, and this was because he'd met Draco's tutor, a brilliant girl named Hermione Granger. She was added to the team without Harry knowing, and scared the hell out of him when she stormed into the room angrily the day after his and Blaise's little talk. He thought he'd been caught and would be executed for sure.

Hermione assured him rather snobbishly that this wasn't the case. No, not at all. In fact, she was ordered by Draco to help him instead of do her real job: tutor the blonde in the sciences, language arts, philosophies, etc. She was, as she'd put it, "upset that she'd been taken away from her work in order to help Draco play his childish game."

When she saw that Harry was offended by her attitude, she apologized for being – well –bitchy. She figured that if they had to work together, then they might as well get along.

And get along they did! Both found they shared a common interest: their hatred for Draco Malfoy.

Hermione claimed that she would have run away long ago, hadn't it been for the fact that she had nowhere to go. She and her people were enslaved when she was a toddler, and once she arrived at the castle, she'd spent years climbing the social ladder from slave to Lord's son's tutor. It hadn't been easy, and she didn't gain very many friends from doing so.

Day in, day out, Hermione taught Harry a proper lady's mannerisms. She taught him how to be graceful while sitting down at a table, how to smile politely whenever a man looked his way, and, most importantly, how to dance. She used Blaise as a model for this, and both boys were forced to swoop around the large room, gazing at each other as if they were in love. Hermione would force them to start the dance from the very beginning if they didn't.

Whenever Harry wasn't learning how to act like a proper lady or pretending to be in love with Blaise, he was reading Draco's epical volumes of stories, all of them rather similar to what you might consider works by Homer, Chaucer, Machiavelli, Marlowe, and William Shakespeare. He would glance up every now and then at Hermione, who was working at a near by desk, imprisoned in a fort created by walls of books and paper stained by black blotches of ink.

She was busy creating a fictional land run by a fictional government. Only a genius could do something like that, but… well, think about who we're talking about here.

Here's the watered down version of what she came up with: Harry's supposed land and culture would be highly secretive. They would be terrified of outsiders, and any outsider that found them would be captured and killed as a sacrifice to their God. The commoners of this land wouldn't be allowed to leave, for fear that their God would kill them. That would be why no one's ever heard of them before. Apparently, Harry's father would hear about Voldemort and his growing empire from a spy. He would realize that if he didn't quickly join Voldemort in this rise, he would eventually be easily conquered. He would become interested in becoming a vassal of Voldemort, but wouldn't be able to leave the castle because of the God. Only someone of royal status would be allowed to conduct such affairs, however. So instead, he would send Harry, his daughter, to conduct the affairs; women would be considered extremely lowly in that land, and if Harry was killed his death would be considered a sacrifice to their God. Of course, Draco, who would have fallen in love with her/him by that time, would eagerly take over carrying out business with this foreign girl for his father. He would want to marry her out of love; but he would also come to the conclusion that he should marry Harry because that would automatically make Harry's land a vassal of Voldemort and bond the two powerful nations. It would be an arrangement in mutual arrangement for both sides.

If Lucius ever wanted to visit Harry's father, he would be denied. The land would be far too secretive to allow anyone else know where it was, ally or not.

Of course, all of this is hogwash. Draco was confident enough to know that his father was incompetent enough to believe every word of this lie.

"But why does Lucius want to bond to another powerful land so badly?" Harry pondered aloud.

Hermione looked up at the boy who was reading over her shoulder. "So that he can become more powerful, of course. It's obvious what he plans to do. He wants to become allies to all of the nations until he's eventually powerful enough to gather a large army and attack Voldemort. He wants to be the supreme Lord in Voldemort's place."

Harry filed this information into the back of his mind. When finally one of the others from the Order visited him, he would pass on this suspicion.

The night of the majestic ball, the courtyard was overflowing with golden carriages and ladies that seemed to be made of plastic.

"There's Lady Armistead," Hermione whispered to Harry as they both looked down from the window at an old, wrinkly woman with caked make-up who limped her way to the stairs where she was carried up by her servants. "And Lady Marla is coming also." She seemed to be the twin of Pansy, only twice as ugly. "Oh, my… it's Lady Bordeaux." The very girl who Draco suspected his father would want him to marry was, in a word, gorgeous. With blonde hair and stunning blue eyes, she was only fifteen, yet seemed like a woman. She acted like one too, and rather rudely at that. They watched her spit fire at one of her servants before striding up the stairs and into the castle.

"It's at midnight that you have to make your way down," Hermione said, pulling away from the window.

Harry kept taking off his glasses and wiping them clean, squinting at the floor. He knew he was going to make a complete fool of himself. Luckily, Ron and George and Fred wouldn't be there to see him in a dress. He did all he could to keep his masculinity dignified. He even went as far as flexing his muscles in a mirror that very morning to remind himself that that he was very manly indeed.

"Don't be so nervous, Harry," Hermione demanded in an assuring tone. "You only have to gracefully move into the ballroom and stand at the top of the stairs until Draco looks directly at you. When that happens, you need to curtsey exactly as I taught you …"

"I know, I know, Hermione. Then I have to walk down the stairs…"

"_Gracefully_."

"…and wait for him to come over and ask for a dance."

Harry swallowed as he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around, the itchy, frilly dress nearly tangling up his feet and forced a smile onto his face, hoping to God it wasn't one of his sardonic versions.

Apparently, it was absolutely perfect.

Draco, dashing in his royal clothing, raised a fine eyebrow. He thought he would meet an ugly girl with a strong jaw and broad shoulders. Instead, he saw the slave who might've been mistaken for a gorgeous queen. Truthfully, his beauty, however false it was, competed with Lady Bordeaux's. The tanned skin was powdered to a beautiful complexion, the thick, black hair of the wig frothed around his face, and the green eyes managed to stand out even more when there were no glasses to hide them. The dress looked absolutely uncomfortable, but it did a good job of covering his muscles. It suited him nicely. He would have to later congratulate Blaise and Hermione on a job excellently done.

He bowed, never once tearing his grey eyes away from the fascinating green ones. It seemed the entire ballroom stilled. Never had anyone once seen Draco Malfoy bow, let alone bow to a lady – a complete stranger. To a Malfoy, bowing was a form of subduing your high ranking status to a lower one. Nobody, in their eyes, was worthy of this.

Harry knew this as much as the jealous ladies surrounding him. He put on an air of surprise and honor of being privileged and curtsied gracefully until he practically touched the marble floor, infinite with elaborate patterns. The dress puffed up all around him. He finally stood, struggling to do this as slowly as Hermione had taught him.

Draco extended a pale hand that seemed to be trembling slightly. He was as nervous as Harry was. Harry allowed his palm to gently touch the prince's. As he was being guided through the mass of ladies that parted like the Red Sea, he kept his head held high. He could feel conviction emanating from these girl's eyes. They seemed angrier than Blaise was on the first night.

They danced, of course. I can't quite say that either messed up or made a mistake that jeopardized the overall plan, except that Harry became lost in the waltz, far beneath the grand chandelier of thousands of glowing candles.

Draco was obviously an excellent dancer, and was kindly patient with Harry as they moved across the dance floor. Nervousness ebbed away. There was still a large distraction, however. In motion, Harry could feel the hundreds of curious, angry, and jealous eyes. It took him a few moments to take Hermione's strong advice: to stare only into Draco's eyes.

And finally their waltz ended perfectly. There was a scattered polite applause. Flushed from the effort, Draco led Harry off of the dance floor to an alcove beneath the staircase, whispering into his ear an order to stay where he was. He was going to his mother, who was watching the ball from a private balcony, to declare his avid love for this stranger.

Now, just to keep this real, Harry realized that yes, he was foolish during the waltz to suddenly become entranced. It made no sense, after all. This was the son of the man who had his parents killed. He was literally dancing with the enemy. Perhaps it was the stress that made him act and think so strangely. Maybe it really was homesickness.

Later that night he was lying down on a bed that felt as gentle and soft as the clouds above. He was in a private room, the place Hermione told him he would stay until further notice. Apparently, Draco's mother wanted him (or, as she thought, her) to stay. She wanted to meet the love of Draco's life, just as her son predicted she would.

This news didn't bring his spirits down, though it made him nervous. No, he was actually rather content. He smiled to himself as he thought about catching sight of Tonks in the open crowd minutes after Draco left him beneath the staircase.

She wandered over, dressed like a princess, and pretended to be politely curious. Harry tried to hide his embarrassment, and knew that Tonks wasn't so cruel as to tease him and tell the others. After making sure no one was listening, they spoke:

"How did you know it was me?"

"You're the only person I've ever met that has such brilliant colored eyes. If you have any news, say it now." She had to be brief because she couldn't risk being there for too long.

Harry told Tonks what Draco's plans were for him and what Hermione's suspicions were. Tonks couldn't express any reaction other than a smile, for fear that someone was watching.

"I hope to meet you again sometime soon," she said and kissed the air above Harry's cheek before moving on to mingle with others for a few minutes. Harry knew he wouldn't see her again for the rest of the night.

Laying there in bed, he struggled to be content with a simple memory. He didn't want to slip into a depressed state over his homesickness. He would never survive if he did that.

AN: I am SO sorry. I know some people have been complaining about the delays. I'm trying to fix that. I don't even have a good excuse. I rushed this chapter a bit so that it wouldn't be finished in three months. It didn't really come out as I would've liked. In fact, I think this chapter sucked. I'm working on making the next chapter a lot more interesting, though.


	5. chapter five

CHAPTER FIVE

"I heard she's the prettiest girl for millions of miles."

"Me too. Supposedly prettier than even Lady Bordeaux."

An incredulous look. "That's not possible! No one is prettier than Lady Bordeaux! She's the angel amongst mortals, a jewel amongst trash – "

"I know, fool, I know. But she is; that's what everyone's been saying."

"You know what I think?"

"No. I don't care, either – "

"I think she's a whore."

There was a moment of blank silence.

"I mean, think about it! Draco Malfoy has been known to 'fall in love,' with whores, right? At least, that's what he claims… that he's in love."

"Fredrick, the only thing I think is that you should shut that goddamned stupid trap of yours."

Ron nearly seconded that thought aloud.

"Well, he might have a point. Think about Blaise Zabini."

"Thank you, Violet!"

"Oh, I don't know if she's a whore," the Fat Lady's words fell to the dusty ground heavily. She was waving her fan and looking away from her small group of friends towards the sweltering oven, "but I can swear on my grandfather's grave that I've seen her somewhere before. If only I could place where…"

Ron cleared his throat as he waited edgily for the bread to finish baking, which really couldn't finish fast enough. It had taken every fiber to not honor Harry's title and explode with fury. Being forced to do Harry's last chores put him in a sour mood, and that was bad enough, but to hear strangers call his best friend a whore? That was starting to make his blood boil over.

At least he had gotten over the shock that Harry had to pretend to be a woman. The scene at headquarters where everyone first learned what was happening to Harry had been a sight to see indeed.

"Her blessings?"

"Yes. Both of you need – "

"Wait, wait. What the hell do you mean by, 'her blessings?'"

Hermione sighed impatiently as if she had to stop her important lecture and explain something simple to a child pulling at her sleeve. "She needs to do exactly as it implies: bless your and Draco's marriage. It's basically the formal way of giving her permission."

"I can't get that," he gaped at her. "How am I supposed to get that?"

"Well, if you'd let me explain instead of interrupting me every other second, you would already have that answered." She stacked her papers into one neat pile on the desk. "She wants to meet you. Draco saw this as the perfect opportunity to set up dinner with the three of you only. It's supposed to be a friendly engagement, but, well," she hesitated, "it's obviously going to turn into an interview of sorts. She wants to see if you're worthy of her son." All mothers, not only Narcissa Malfoy, have reputations for needing to protect their sons from the undeserving.

There was once a Lady Malfoy, if I remember correctly, that beheaded any undeserving girl who approached her son. She was the same Lady Malfoy that was nicknamed, 'The Widow,' for she killed her husband – poisoned him – when her son came of age to assume control. She would have been executed hadn't her son, the new Lord Malfoy, intervened. There were whispers in the streets that Narcissa Malfoy had so many similarities to the Widow that Lord Lucius Malfoy would be insane not to worry about his safety.

"So I'm basically being auditioned to see if I can play the part of the perfect bride. But no pressure, right?"

"Harry, I've already told you, you don't have to worry. In about a day, Draco will return with his father from their hunt. He already told me that he wants to dedicate the time after with you to prepare. I'll be there to help."

They were within Harry's stuffy but private chambers. Blaise was hovering in the background like a trained puppy that was disciplined harshly just the moment before, sulking as usual and idly braiding his hair, more to pass the time than to make himself more stylish.

Draco was off with Lord Malfoy on the traditional annual hunt that was supposed to be shared between son and father. It was an old joke in the Malfoy residence that Lord Malfoy and Draco wouldn't kill anything but themselves out of anger and resentment.

Indeed, Draco truly never killed anything on these hunts, which had Lord Malfoy yelling at his son – even when he was only seven years old. "A rabbit!" he would carry on angrily. "You could've killed a rabbit, at least!" (It was at times like these where Lady Malfoy would interfere and relieve her little boy of his father's unreasonable temper.)

Both men were expected back by early afternoon tomorrow, having left the previous morning before the sun had fully risen.

Harry's ruby red drapes were pulled back from the window, allowing the sunlight to pour into the room, which was a muddy puddle in comparison to Draco's ocean of a room. It was still a grand room, however, in comparison to – say – the cramped room he left behind in his headquarters, the one he was forced to share with the twins and Ron.

"So, what're we going to do?"

"What do you mean?" Hermione glanced up at the restlessly pacing Harry from the desk, carpeted with piles of paper, which was quickly becoming her personal office.

"To prepare?"

"Oh, well, not too much… Firstly, I'm going to pretend to be – "

There was a sudden, violent pounding on the door. Harry faltered in his tracks. Hermione whirled around to stare. Blaise, startled, went forward from his shadows towards the door, shuddering from the constant hammering. Hermione, thinking fast, shoved Harry into the open closet so that he practically fell over himself and collided with the wall. She snapped the doors shut and hissed at him to shut up. Once he was successfully hidden, Blaise called out over the bashing:

"Who is it?" He didn't know how else to handle the situation.

"Just open the door! Damn you!" The pounding became more insistent, as if that was supposed to make the door open faster.

Would it look horribly suspicious? Blaise, Draco's infamous whore, and Hermione, Draco's controversial tutor, in the foreign princess's chambers, I mean. The door was about to be knocked down. Blaise didn't seem to think much about looking out of place; he swung it open.

There stood the lanky messenger, Justin, with horrible acne and flushed cheeks. "Blaise!" He wasn't at all surprised. "Lord Draco attacked Lord Malfoy!

Hermione appeared beside Blaise. "Draco attacked his father?"

"They had an argument… it happened so fast."

So it had. As the servants were roasting the previous night's game over a crackling fire that was spitting sparks for breakfast in the morning fog, Draco was summoned by his father to speak inside of the large, comfortable tent. Lord Malfoy's favored generals and advisors were sitting with him, guffawing and nattering, saying loudly, "Where's our breakfast!" Lord Malfoy didn't bother to make the conversation private. They were among friends and imbecile servants too brainless to understand the conversation in full.

This was as Justin, one of those imbecile servants, witnessed it:

Lord Malfoy told Draco point blank that he thought Lady Bordeaux would be a better choice. He didn't trust the secretive foreigners.

Draco told Lord Malfoy firmly that he loved the girl and would marry her. Lady Bordeaux? He refused to even consider marrying that wench.

No! He was to do as Lord Malfoy demanded. He was not to be a selfish child anymore. It was time that he grew up.

He would do as he, Draco Malfoy, wished. Not the wishes of his damned, hopeless father.

A slap across the face; Draco's head turned with impact. The bustle within the tent, already slowing with the furious shouts, came to a complete stop. A red mark was printed on the cheek, heated and patched pink from anger.

Not a second had passed before Draco grabbed a near by spear, innocently reclining nearby against a rock with many other spears, all of them sharpened the previous night. Lord Malfoy was lucky Draco wasn't wearing his rapier else the nearby guards wouldn't have had enough time to realize Draco's murderous intent and stop him.

It was easy enough to arrest the struggling boy, thin as twigs; he never did have any physical strength, only mental. He was brutally forced down to his knees as the guards asked if he should be executed immediately or should be given a public execution in the courtyard. Son or not, it was still treachery and betrayal of the province to attempt to murder the Lord Malfoy. But, to the guards' shock, their Lord laughed hollowly and muttered that he envied his son's unreasonably quick temper. He was ordered to be released.

Draco didn't seem surprised at his release at all. Instead, he said he would return to the castle immediately – a day sooner than expected. Be damned if you thought he cared that he was breaking generations upon generations of tradition.

Justin had, nearly killing his horse with the effort, raced back to the castle to tell everyone to prepare for an early arrival. Blaise would be expected to wait at the entrance along with Hermione and the guest, the foreign princess. It was better, in fact, that Blaise and Hermione were there, both promising to pass the news onto the temporarily absent princess.

"Why would he – Lucius Malfoy, I mean – do that?" Harry, who had been listening intently from the closet, asked Hermione as she grabbed a dress the second after Justin left.

"Do what? Blaise, get the make up."

"Release Draco."

"Isn't it obvious? Take off your clothes – Oh, stop blushing as if I've never seen a man in his underpants before. Draco is too valuable to his plan to have him arrested. He needs his son so that his province will be bonded to another powerful one through marriage. Of course, all of this means that we'll be depending solely on Lady Malfoy's blessings…"

Harry winced as Hermione laced up the bodice. Hermione was terse in her actions. She was obviously working her brain. It was unwise to interrupt her while she was thinking, so Harry remained silent until Blaise placed the wig on his head as if it were a crown. He was quickly getting over having to wear dresses, and the powder that made him hack and cough wasn't so bad, that was true enough, but he would never be used to the scratchy wigs that frothed around his face.

"Come; we'll be your escorts," Hermione opened the door. "Be quick. He'll be arriving any minute."

Blaise said something miniscule about Harry needing to buy a slave or two for himself as they hurriedly but gracefully rushed down the corridors, and Harry absentmindedly responded, but he was truly pondering what Hermione had said. He didn't need her brains to figure out why Lady Malfoy's blessings had become all the more necessary. If she approved of Harry – hell, if she loved him and didn't want her son to marry anyone but Harry – well, then at least they would have a chance to accomplish their plan. Both Lady Malfoy and Draco Malfoy's cunning and subtle tantrum throwing might've been too much for Lord Malfoy to handle. He might've eventually give in if his wife was on his son's side. But if Lady Malfoy dislikes Harry… Draco's plan would be ruined and Harry wouldn't be useful anymore. Blaise's words flooded his thoughts.

No pressure? HA.

(Now, I didn't want to interrupt before because of the rapid plot movement, but now I must ask you… Did I ever mention why Hermione being Draco's tutor is controversial? Just in case I didn't or you happened to forget, here's why: it's because she was previously a citizen of lands conquered by Voldemort. She and her clan became slaves and were sent to the Malfoy province as gifts. Please don't roll your eyes. The entire tale is actually quite serious and tragic, but that's a story meant to be told at another time.

Now, being a slave is probably bad enough, but a female slave from a foreign land? Even at the young age of ten, she understood what her future would become if she didn't think and act fast. While her peers sobbed about the past and quickly became new unwilling additions to the guards' harems, she hid in the kitchens and worked hard without shedding a single tear until she was positive that a harem woman wasn't what she was destined to become.

She quickly befriended the right people within a year's span, and with a series of lucky events and smart tactics, she slowly but surely rose from a lowly slave girl, likely to become pregnant or dead by the time she became thirteen, to the Lord's advisor's scholar's genius assistant. She just happened to be lecturing her master, the scholar, on the importance of trading outside of provinces when one of the Lord's advisors, the scholar's master, wandered by the open door and stopped to listen.

But Gods! The girl was surely a genius and nothing less. He stole her from his scholar and took her straight to the Lord Malfoy, where she and the Lord sat down for an evening on comfortable couches and debated politics well into the night. Oh, sure, the Lord's audience claimed he won easily, but behind their hands they whispered that she was the winner by far.

And she was ordered to become Draco Malfoy's tutor. Hopefully she would be able to teach the boy how to think like a genius.

But why was this so controversial? Well, because not even three years ago, she was nothing but a ten-year-old slave girl, property of Lord Malfoy. She still was, technically! Imagine… a bloody slave girl tutoring Lord Malfoy's son. Surely something was wrong with that picture.

At first, Draco certainly thought so and wondered if his father had hit his head while out hunting, but he quickly learned why his father made the decision.

At this point, Hermione, Blaise, and Harry – dressed as the foreign princes of course – went down into the courtyard to wait for Draco's return.)

It was hot in the courtyard. Harry was sure that if he took off his shoes, the bottoms of his feet would scald on the surface of the stone floor. It didn't help at all that the dress felt like it was created to protect a lady from the freezing air of winter. Choking from the heat, he looked around for shade. Surely he could convince Hermione to allow them to stand somewhere cooler. After all, it wouldn't be very becoming if Draco returned to the love of his life, whom would be sweating like a man.

The courtyard was as silent as a graveyard at night, despite the large crowds of royals standing around, being fanned by their servants – of course, everyone knew what happened already. Most were shocked into silence.

As Harry glanced around, he flushed when he realized that many of the royals, the women in particular, were staring at him. Was he standing incorrectly? He glanced at Hermione to make sure that there wasn't something he forgot to do, but she wasn't paying him any mind.

They waited in the heat and silence for what seemed like ages before finally the sound of a hoarse trumpet sounded. Draco was finally approaching the castle.

There was a stirring ripple across the courtyard. Many people started to move to the side, many started to bow, and of course Harry didn't notice. He was too busy staring at his toes, wishing that Draco would hurry up because it was damned stifling, hoping to the GODS that he truly didn't forget something important –

There was a pair of eyes on him, he could just feel it. He looked up. And standing before him was Lady Narcissa Malfoy, dressed so magnificently that Harry felt like he was wearing rags. Harry wondered how Lady Malfoy was surviving if he felt like he was dying of heat.

She offered him a gracious smile and curtsied to him, which he nearly tripped over himself to return.

And the moment was over as quickly as it begun. She turned to stare at the entrance, which Draco was expected to burst through any second. Had this been a modern day Earth, you can be damned sure that the following headline would be in the papers the next day: Lady Malfoy formally addresses The Foreign Princess! The article: the scandalous foreign princess was formally addressed by Lady Malfoy earlier yesterday afternoon. Doctors so-and-so that has a degree in such-and-such believe that this was a psychological method used by Lady Malfoy to threaten and intimidate the foreign princess, who indeed looked as if she was trembling like a leaf – in her absolutely stunning dress covered with silvery ribbons, I might add; though it was nothing in comparison to Lady Malfoy's gorgeous while, silk gown that covered the floor all around her. The two waited beside each other in the center of the courtyard, cleared completely of the lesser royals, as if they were in the center of a ballroom and people had circled around them to watch their waltz.

Finally! The long-awaited son, Draco Malfoy, cantered into the courtyard followed by his small train, as if he were invading his own home.

He jumped off of his bravura white horse and glared around, as if daring anyone to scold him for trying to murder his father and breaking a tradition older than the castle itself. And as he glared around, he caught sight of the two most important women in his life: his mother and his first true love.

Standing a few paces apart the two ladies waited, as if to see who he would choose to go to first. His mother, who was impatiently waiting for her son to return from the hunt to the point that she was near tears, held her head high with pride; and the girl stared at the ground and pulled at the frills on her dress nervously.

He walked straight up to the younger girl, nearly completely disregarding his mother, and embraced her. The gasps, though audible, were hushed. Draco pretended not to notice and guided his bride-to-be out of the hot courtyard and into the shaded comfort of the castle.

His mother, a true queen of sorts, merely smiled and followed her son inside slowly and gracefully.

What did some of the royals have to say about this? (Note that the article has long since finished, and a good thing too because if any of the royals were caught insulting the Lord and Lady Malfoy's son they would – well – let's just say they would _disappear_.)

"I don't believe it," Lady Maximila, a woman that seemed to be recovering from a horrible flux said, clearly astounded. "There must be something wrong with that boy."

"First, he breaks the tradition," Lord Jameson roared to his friends as quietly as possible, his pointy beard trembling with the outrage of it all.

"Next, he attempted to kill his father. His own father! He's bloody lucky he wasn't executed, that much I can say." Lady Regada shook her head as the gossiping friends that surrounded her nodded their heads in agreement.

"Now, he completely ignores his mother! I don't believe it! I – I – " Lady Dunderhill looked like she was about to collapse from disbelief. Or spontaneously combust. Either one, personally, I wouldn't quite mind, and neither would anyone else in the castle.

Oh, but be rest assured. Nothing was wrong with Lord Draco Malfoy. In fact, he knew exactly what he was doing.

TBC…

AN: Thanks so much for the reviews! I'm glad no one thinks the style is annoying.

As for one of the two questions that were asked, you're right. I didn't even think about Tonks being able to get into the ball, her being a commoner and everyone else being Lords' daughters. If it helps any, I guess I could explain it away with her being part of a secret organization. She could've gotten a secret identity and pretended to be a Lord's daughter… or something. 

And for the second question, I'm really sorry. I never really thought anyone would mind drag, since the story itself is really silly. Shows the naivety of me, I guess. Didn't mean to offend. ;;;


	6. chapter six

CHAPTER SIX

"I know what I'm doing, Hermione!"

Draco's tone was upset for a number of reasons:

1: Hermione interrupted him on his trip to his baths, his temporary sanctuary since his room had been invaded, once again, by his troop: Harry, Blaise, and Hermione. Proof of his interrupted trip was the green robe he wore, tied carelessly around his waist and the fine blonde hair, tugged back out of his face by a thin piece of silk.

2: Hermione was accusing him of being a an imbecile – no, an idiotic cretin. Now, why would she say something like that? Because he, apparently, embarrassed both himself and his mother in front of those snotty royals.

3: Hermione was reminding him of the possible folly he just committed – that his mother might get so upset at this embarrassment that she wouldn't give her blessings.

I think it's safe to say that, at the moment, Draco wasn't very happy with Hermione.

She didn't seem to care, however – oh, quite the contrary! She seemed to act as a mother would when ignoring a child throwing a tantrum: silently embarrassed, but refusing to say anything except what needed to be said.

"All right then, Draco," she said as calmly as she could. It seemed to take a lot of effort. "Since you know what you're doing, then I'll just – "

"Don't be a fool!" there was a touch of desperation to the edge of his tone. Only people who knew Draco really well would be able to notice such a stir, however, so Hermione wasn't moved. Her expression stayed nearly completely blank.

"Understand that I don't have anytime to play around with you, Draco. I could be working on my essays, researching – "

"Your research isn't as important as this!"

"Oh?"

Even Harry could tell that Draco was heading into dangerous waters.

"Yes! This – all of this – affects the future of this entire province!"

"So researching and gathering information for your father doesn't?"

"Not as much as my own marriage, no. Besides, you're a female slave – you have no choice but to listen to me."

Blaise and Harry exchanged glances.

"No, wait! Hermione, don't go out of that door – DAMN IT!"

Okay, so not all mothers could contain themselves. There's always a boiling point, after all.

Draco nearly ran after Hermione, but he stopped himself. Running after a female slave, even if she was his tutor, would've made him lose face, after all.

Blaise and Harry, who were sitting on a couch as far away from Draco and the former presence of Hermione as possible, stayed as silent as possible. Suddenly, as if Blaise only then remembered his duties as a servant, he swiftly got off the couch but moved edgily towards Draco. "Do you need anything?" he probed cautiously.

Draco was standing with one hand gripping his hip, another massaging the bridge of his nose. He was still cursing under his breath. He obviously needed Hermione for whatever the next step of his plan was, though he would never admit that.

"Do you need me to go get her – ?"

"No," he snapped, and continued to say something about not needing her. Harry snorted. He always found states of denial amusing.

"You shouldn't have upset her," Harry said, standing up off of the couch himself. He was wearing one of Draco's older, more comfortable outfits: a plain white shirt, used for sleeping in, and a pair of shorts to help fight off the heat of the day. Being a foreign princess, he had to get himself away from the toxic slave rags he wore before and become more familiar with riches, even if it was only plain and simple clothing. That was Blaise's reasoning, anyway, and he convinced Draco that he was right.

"Oh, shut up," Draco retorted to Harry with a snarl. "She's an absolute bitch anyway, couldn't stand her around – "

Harry rolled his eyes and strolled over, down the three stairs. Blaise was eyeing him as if he didn't think Harry had the right to approach Draco when he was obviously fretting.

"But you shouldn't have," Harry shrugged. "I've only been with her a few weeks, and I've realized that she's useless when she's angry. I'm surprised you didn't realize this yourself. How long has she been with you, and you still haven't figured that out?"

"You're not being very useful yourself," Blaise bit, but Harry only shrugged.

"I'm only saying the truth."

"No one asked you to – "

"Shut up, I said, both of you," Draco glared steel in both of their directions. Blaise silenced himself immediately, but Harry rolled his eyes again. "Blaise, go fix my bath. Make it as cold as possible."

"Anything else?"

"No. Oh, hold on – Harry, do you want anything?"

Harry shrugged. "Some food would be nice."

"Get him something from the kitchen. Some pie and juice or something. Actually, make it enough for two, and three if you plan on joining us. Take your time; I'm going to spend a while."

"Should I send in someone from the harem, or a massager?"

Draco didn't even hesitate in saying, "No."

Blaise nodded and turned swiftly on his heel, through the open doorway and into the baths to prepare them.

"What're we going to do now?" Harry asked, breaking a short silence.

Draco sighed heavily and sat on the edge of his shiny oak desk. "I don't know… I'm thinking."

Harry smirked. But Gods, it was so painfully obvious that Draco needed Hermione! He might've been brilliant at making plans, but Hermione was a genius with psychology. She would be able to tell Draco what mattered to Lady Malfoy, what she would base the interview on, etc. They needed Hermione to tell them what they as "lovers" would need to know and say in order to impress Lady Malfoy.

This between you and me, if Hermione were here and Draco hadn't pissed her off, she would've sat down calmly at his desk and said, "Well, Lady Malfoy's main concern will be how well the two of you know each other."

Indeed. If Draco ever had an ounce of romance in his being, he would've inherited it from his mother. If his mother were an average woman in our world, she would spend hours on end in the local bookstore in the romance aisle, staring at the 10 cent paperbacks with men with large muscles on the cover as if they were gold.

She fit the stereotype of a romantic mother with a son she loved very much and fought for but never received much thanks; but was also married to a husband she probably detested but had no choice but to put up with him. And as every mother such as her would, she thinks that there are three main keys to a successful relationship:

1. The amount of love between the lovers must reach a peak so that they can't live without each other unless they plan on breaking down and being locked up into mental institutions. Their hearts must gallop whenever they catch sight of each other, their souls must be – fused, in a sense.

2. The sex must be so passionate that every night – or almost every night – both people in the relationship are tangled together in their sheets… or whatever fabric may be near the place they made love.

3. You must know your lover like the back of your hand – or something more familiar, for those who don't spend hours on end staring at the back of their hands.

But of course, though Hermione would, Draco wouldn't – couldn't – realize this. Maybe it had something to do with being a man, or his thinking there was only one key to a successful relationship:

1. Lady Malfoy's #2.

Just to note, this is rather ironic, if I do say so myself. For at the very beginning of Draco and Hermione's argument, at the moment Harry decided he would be safer on the couch beside Blaise, Draco yelled at Hermione that he knew his mother better than she did. He understood that she wanted him to choose Harry over her. It would be proof of strong affection. It was the first step to getting her blessings, he thought.

Hermione obviously disagreed. She thought that Lady Malfoy already figured that Draco was deeply in love – he had to be to act like such a fool, after all. She thought Lady Malfoy was literally testing Draco to see if he still found room in his heart for her.

Who was right?

Well, since Hermione was the genius, I would have to say she was.

Draco sat in a stupor until Blaise returned. He let himself wander to the baths – Blaise assured him they were ice cold – as if he was a lost child, deep in contemplation. He closed the drapes behind him, making it clear that he wished to be left alone to think.

The moment the blonde stepped out of the room, Blaise turned with a suspicious glare at Harry, who stood there like a filthy statue covered in bird crap that was blocking his path.

"What?" Harry raised an eyebrow in questioning at Blaise. Frankly, he was surprised at Blaise's glare. They got along well enough on the couch moments ago.

Blaise continued to glare at Harry as if he was bursting to say something rude, nasty, and whip Harry with his tongue… but he didn't. He shrugged after a moment. "It was a pie you wanted, no?" and he left a second later.

Leaving Harry to feel wary – and, well, weary. Physically, yes, but emotionally also. He was getting used to it, but it was at moments like those when he felt terribly homesick.

Knowing Draco, the blonde would take a few hours in the baths. Who knew when Blaise would come back with the food?

Harry glanced around at the room. The balcony, the couch, the bed, the shelves… He should've been taking the time to work, to read the blonde's journal at the very least –

But damn, the bed looked so much more alluring.

Later, he told himself as he drifted towards the bed. He would read the journal later.

When he lied down, he felt like he was floating on air; he fell asleep nearly instantly. Though he wouldn't remember it when he woke up, he had a dream.

The bottoms of his feet were hard soles, used to the crushed rocks and stiff pine needles that assaulted them. He ran through the forest, towards the headquarters, but he couldn't find it. The forest was becoming thicker and thicker. A stream near by was growing, rushing, and suddenly became a roaring floor that swamped him. He tried to swim to the top of the forest, but his lungs were bursting. He saw Ron swim by and past him, as well and Fred, George, Ginny, everyone else from headquarters, and a familiar face, almost forgotten, the face of that pretty girl that lived on the edge of the forest… and suddenly, someone grabbed his arm. He was pulled out of the water.

His eyes snapped open. Lucius Malfoy was leaning over him, his icy blue eyes gazing down at him. But – no. He adjusted his glasses and squinted.

It was only Draco, staring down at him blankly. "You were having a bad dream," he muttered.

Harry impulsively shoved Draco away, who got off the bed, respecting the other man's personal space. Blaise tapped his foot impatiently not too far away. The fancy silver platter of food and drinks were set up on a tray on the edge of the bed.

Draco dismissed Harry's attempted explanation of why he was on the blonde's bed and apology with the wave of his hand and said eagerly, "I've figured it out."

He had, really and truly – about what they needed to know for Lady Malfoy's interview, anyway. At least, that's what he would've liked Harry to think, but it became clear what really happened as Hermione cleared her throat.

"If you don't need me anymore," she said, a touch angrily.

"Stay here, in case I do," Draco said stiffly.

Hermione huffed and sat down on the sofa, making it quite clear that she refused to say anything more that would aid Draco unless directly asked. Harry watched Blaise sit down on the edge of the bed, making the bed sink slightly, as did Draco.

Draco decided that, in order to get to know each other like the backs of their hands, they ought to tell each other about their childhoods and forced Harry to begin. Nervous at first, he uneasily began by saying he was an orphan – his parents… they died in a freak accident. He was raised by a kind woman along with her children, whom he dubbed: "his best friend," "the twins," "the little sister," "the coolest brother," "the animal trainer," and "Percy." Notice how he gave everyone else dubs for their own protection, but he let Percy's name slip by.

No, I'm joking!

He disliked Percy, but not that much. No, he dubbed Percy, "the annoying prick."

Hermione glanced over from time to time to listen to Harry's life story as a commoner; she was trying not to seem too curious, but she was failing horribly.

Of course, he didn't tell them about headquarters or the missions Bill, Kingsley, Fred and George, or Charlie went on.

He did, however, tell them about the childhood stories that warned him to run away whenever he saw a member of the royal guard; you know – stories similar to the Boogeyman, who comes out if you don't go to sleep, and the red-eyed-monster, who lives on the other side of the province walls. He was taught to run away not only because he was part of the Order, but because they often created havoc for no reason at all. There was the time when the royal guard came to collect the payments and he watched an older man get beat silly by them, just because he was a humpback. He told them about the weeks when they went without water because the well was dry; he and his friends had to travel out of the safety of the province's wall, despite the red-eyed monster, to collect water from a nearby river. He told them about his weekly chore of walking the two hour walk into town just to buy the loaves of bread. He even went into telling them about how he couldn't go to school because the walk was far too long. It was nearly five hours. Instead, he was schooled at home with his other friend – but he only told them this because Hermione asked.

Draco tried his best not to seem guilty or show any emotion other than polite interest, and he nearly succeeded. There was the slight air about him, though, and the hesitant pause when he was to tell Harry about his childhood of comfort, his summers in other provinces and castles, his banquets and elegant parties and ignorance to what was happening outside of his home – oh, and the academy, of course. He went into how he absolutely detested Pansy as a child, as a result to Blaise's sarcastic comment: "He was so captivating, even lesbians fell in love with him."

Harry just had to ask: "What's wrong with Pansy, anyway?"

"You wear glasses and you still don't know the answer to that question?"

"Blaise, shut up," Draco snapped; he was tired of being interrupted. He glanced at Harry and answered matter-of-factly, "She's a beast."

Hermione glared. "She is not!"

"Hermione, my Aunt Dunderhill is prettier than her."

"All right, so she isn't the prettiest girl in the world, but physical appearance shouldn't be the only qualifying matter!"

"Oh, that's not the only reason why I refuse to marry her," Draco muttered.

"He prefers men," Blaise spoke up once again as he picked up his glass for a sip.

Draco gave him a hard look. "If I'm not mistaken, I do believe I just told you to be quiet. Besides, you're wrong. I don't prefer men over women."

"Then you prefer women over men." It was Harry that spoke up this time.

"I didn't say that either."

Hermione interrupted Blaise, Harry, and Draco's conversation with a seething glaze over her eyes. "That's the problem with you men – or, supposed men, really – all of you still have the minds of boys! Sex isn't the only matter of importance in relationships."

"I beg to differ."

"Draco, if Harry were truly to be your bride-to-be you would have to spend the rest of your life with him!"

"Your point?"

Harry vaguely remembered Blaise calling Draco "romantic." Perhaps they had different definitions of the word.

Hermione took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. She counted from one to two, three, four, five. Opened her eyes. And she turned with a very large smile to Harry. "Harry, have you ever – er – been romantic with someone?" She had obviously heard enough of Draco's stories – hell, voice – for the day.

He furrowed his eyebrows in thought. The closest he'd ever been to having a lover was when he was twelve and Ginny was ten. They would take walks in the forest, blushing from the twins' teasing. Did that count? He had a crush on Tonks, once, but that was clearly unrequited. That definitely didn't count. There was Cho Chang, the pretty girl that once had a crush on him. She lived on the edge of the forest. But other than that…

"Er – no," he said, looking back from his pondering.

Hermione hesitated in her breathing. Draco stared at Harry blankly, as if he couldn't understand the concept of a person that was a virgin to any type of romance. Harry could even feel Blaise's gaze tearing through him.

"So you've never had sex?"

"Blaise!" Hermione snapped. "That's none of your business."

"I disagree," Draco smirked. "After all, we're trying to build a relationship. A relationship without sex – even a discussion of it – is bound to fail."

Harry was quick to excuse himself from such a topic. Hermione seemed to back him up.

In his defense, he said hastily, "How am I supposed to talk about something if I've never done – er – it?"

"I can find him someone from the harem," Blaise suggested.

"No!" Harry and Hermione shouted.

"Can we change to another topic, please?" Harry seemed close to begging Hermione.

"So that you can sit there and stare at me while I talk? I don't think so." Draco seemed to be enjoying himself.

"I practically gave my life story earlier!"

"And I'm now asking to hear more."

"Well, you're not going to get more!"

"And that's that," Hermione snapped, signaling Draco to end his advances. He seemed ready to retort, but let it go with a shrug.

After a moment, Hermione said, "Well!" She cleared her throat and racked her mind for another topic, but before she could say another word, Draco shifted and pushed himself off of his bed.

"I think that's enough bonding for one night, and I personally have a lot to get done."

Harry gratefully stood up himself. "I'm tired."

Hermione's expression was wary as she watched them, but she relented and left a few moments later, telling them she would return tomorrow before dinner for more preparation. By that time, she had obviously gotten over Draco's earlier extreme rudeness.

But before Harry could go with her, Draco told him to stay the night. No one would know that the precious princess wasn't in her room, and besides, it was more risky for him to be traveling between both rooms anyway, Draco insisted when Harry seemed hesitant. After Harry yielded, Blaise of course wanted to stay and promised he wouldn't get in the way, but Draco dismissed him. He sat down at his desk after Blaise left with a pout. He was flipping through his books.

Harry was getting comfortable in the small corner he thought he'd never have to sleep in again. He wasn't really tired – hell no, it was way too early to be sleepy – but it wasn't as if he had a pile of "What To Do" lists.

Truthfully, he was happy to stay with Draco. At least then, there would be another person around and about. It was too lonely in his cramped chambers. He felt claustrophobic when he was in there and homesick because it reminded him of the stuffiness of his former bedroom, the one he shared with Fred and George and Ron.

The floor was hard and cold. It smelled moldy when his face was pressed up directly next to it.

"Harry," Draco called over. Harry sat up in a split second, shocked that his name was being called. When he realized that it was only Draco (who else would it be?) he pressed his lips tightly together and pretended to be bothered.

"What?"

"Come over here."

Harry took a second or two before getting to his feet and ambling over, down the three stairs, pass the sofa, and to the desk that was beside the shelves of epics. Somewhere in there was the journal. He would read it again tonight, after Draco fell asleep, he decided. No excuses. Lately, he'd been slacking in his mission. He needed to be prepared to give information, seeing that someone from headquarters could arrive at any moment.

"What?" he asked when he arrived next to the blonde.

Draco was holding a book out to Harry. He took it and looked it over. It had a blue covering and had a picture of an ugly man on it with lines and creases and scars all along his face. The pages were ratty and moldy. Harry tried to read it once, during the days when he nearly jumped off the balcony from boredom, but it was far too wordy for his liking.

"Did you happen to read it?"

Draco was asking Harry this because he caught Harry reading his books at the desk. His initial reaction was to be angry and selfish, but Hermione snapped some sense into him, and he was too tired to stay angry, so he let it go. Harry could read his books, Draco declared, as long as he didn't destroy any of them.

As if Harry went out of his way to destroy books.

Harry wondered if Draco suddenly decided to be angry again, but he didn't seem very upset. He hesitated, then said, "I tried to read it once."

"This is my favorite book."

Harry viewed the ratty cover book. "If it's your favorite, then why don't you get a new one?"

"I've had this book since I was ten," Draco replied, as if that would explain everything.

"Oh." Harry blinked. Why was Draco telling him this?

"Anyway, I want you to finish it."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

"I don't want to."

"If you liked 'The Impediment,' you'll enjoy this one. It's just that it's slow at first, that's all. It gets better once Sethus escapes from the dungeon." 'The Impediment' was the book Harry had been so unconditionally engrossed in when Draco caught him reading.

: Sarcasm.

Harry took the book with the blue covering from Draco and flipped it open. "You know, I don't really like reading all so much. I was only reading because there was nothing else to do."

"And if you're going to be married to me, you're going to have to change that." There was an air of humor in his voice. Harry glanced up, almost surprised, and smirked, flipping through the pages.

From there, they had a small chat about 'The Impediment' – nothing much, just a small discussion where they analyzed the feelings of the main characters, which quickly became a miniscule argument that Hermione would've rolled her eyes at if she were there to listen to it.

Just to let you know, after the two were finished talking, Harry spent most of the night reading the blue book instead of the blonde's golden journal. He promised himself he would read the journal the next night, after the dinner party.

TBC…

AN: Wow. At this point, I know it must seem that this story is going NOWHERE. But that's not true, I swear it! And the next chapter is a lot better! I know because it's already written. XP Please review, just to let me know what you think, what I should work on, what I should change… I tried to work on my voice a little more in this one. Did you notice?


	7. chapter seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

It's rude to invite people to private functions. Then again, it's also rude to completely ignore somebody who is as close to you as a – say – mother.

So it might just be that Narcissa Malfoy invited Pansy Parkinson to the dinner for revenge against Draco's greeting – or really, lack thereof. Or she might've invited Pansy because she felt that Harry would be more nervous and would show his true colors if a girl his own age was there (remember, now, she thinks Harry is actually a princess from a foreign land.) Or maybe she really did like the ugly bitch and wanted her to be there for her company.

Whichever was the case, Draco wasn't pleased. Especially since he only found out moments before he escorted Harry to the private balcony overlooking a majestic garden, the place where the dinner was to be held.

At first, he thought Hermione was telling a very poor joke indeed when she broke him the news.

"What do you mean Pansy is coming to dinner also?"

"That's what I've been informed! I only just found out, right before I rushed up to tell you – "

There was a sudden yell of anger. Servants that were finally replacing the portraits of Draco outside of the door – you remember, the ones that were knocked down in the first chapter after Draco argued with his father – were nearly startled onto falling to the floor from their ladders.

"Look at me, Harry – okay, close your eyes."

"Can't I wear my glasses tonight? For just tonight?"

"No. You didn't wear them before when she saw you."

"You don't need your sight for this, not really, and you're not that blind without them, are you?"

Harry nearly replied to Draco, but Blaise told him to, "Purse your lips together like this – yes."

"Tell me one more time – why do you love Draco?"

He replied in a dry voice, "Because he's romantic, charming, and oh so clever."

"You forgot good looking."

"What should I do about Pansy?"

"What do you mean, 'what should you do?'"

"I mean, what if she… you know…"

"Is a bitch to you? Don't do anything. Don't even talk to her."

"In fact, you will not under any circumstances even look at Pansy in the eye."

"What? Draco, stop speaking rubbish."

Harry looked over at Draco, standing in black dress attire – he learned his lesson about how easily white clothing could stain from the first night when Harry spilled wine into his lap, it seemed. He was watching Harry sit on a stool being taken care of by Hermione and Blaise. Harry was to wear the white, flowing gown that was the mother of frills and lace, one of the dresses out of Harry's private room's closet. Blaise arrived with it moments before, reporting that he got a few strange looks for carrying such a large, beautiful dress into Draco's chambers.

Together, Harry and Draco were supposed to symbolize two characters in Draco's favorite book, the one with the blue cover. They were lovers and always wore black and white clothing to subtly symbolize what you could think of as the yin and yang of their world. Hermione figured this would silently impress Draco's mother, since this was also her favorite book.

"I'm not speaking rubbish. Whenever someone looks Pansy in the eye, they become lost in her hideous features – "

Hermione sighed exasperatedly and pulled away from powdering Harry's face. "You're absolutely outstanding, Harry. Very beautiful."

Harry didn't know if she was trying to make up for snapping at him yesterday (when she called all three of the men boys for being obsessed with sex), but he definitely knew that wasn't the way to go about making him feel any better.

"Yes, stunning," Draco burred. "Now if you would just hurry up so that we're not late – "

"We have plenty of time," Hermione snapped. She turned back to Harry and brushed a curl from the wig out of his face. "You're not nervous, are you?"

He looked at her blankly. What the hell did she think? He didn't want to be nervous, but Gods! This was worse than the night that he had to dance with Draco at the ball. He was about to be interviewed by Lady Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson was going to be there also. He could imagine Ron's reaction to this: he would say with a blank stare, "Mate, you're in a bloody twist."

Blaise was busying himself, fixing the silver sash around Draco's waist, making as much skin contact as possible in the simple act. Draco didn't seem to mind, and in fact leaned over to murmur something into Blaise's ear, brightening the boy's face considerably.

"Relax, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. "You can do this. Pansy isn't really all that bad, and Draco is going to be there with you. That might not seem like much of a comforting thought, but he'll take care of Pansy if she tries to give you any trouble."

"What about Lady Malfoy?"

"Don't worry," Draco said. "I'll answer any questions she throws your way. All you have to do is sit there and look pretty."

"Even so," Hermione turned her stare back to Harry, "you have to remember to use the voice that we practiced."

Blaise smirked. "Are you sure you want him to use that voice? He sounds like cat that's having its limbs chopped off."

"Don't listen to him."

"All right, let's go." Draco unhooked his arm from Blaise.

Harry swallowed thickly and felt his head shaking itself.

"Oh, don't be a coward," Draco muttered and grabbed Harry's arm, dragging him off of the stool. They marched across the room, Harry stumbling over the dress. Hermione told him to pick up the cloth so that it wasn't dragging in front of his feet so much, but Draco said that the dress wasn't the problem – it was Harry's big feet. This started a small argument that created a buzzing in Hermione's ears.

Blaise stuck his head out of the double doors to make sure that there weren't any servants or slaves or royals around, and together the four walked down the hall, past the different staircases and portraits of old men lining the walls.

During the walk, Blaise was walking abnormally close to Draco, who went as far to snake his arm around the other boy's waist. Hermione ignored the two, but Harry couldn't help glancing at them every now and then. He blushed and looked away when he was caught looking by Blaise.

And they were suddenly there, at the large oak doors. Hermione smiled and nodded assuredly at Harry while Blaise smirked at him, as if to say, "Both of us know you're going to screw up."

Inside was a white room, tiled and decorated with freshly plucked roses from the garden hanging from golden lamps. There was nothing in this room but a row of royal servants. They all bowed to Harry and Draco as they walked, side by side, across the room, ushered by a pesky servant. Harry glanced back at Hermione, but he could only catch a flash of her before the door closed with a heavy thud. He swallowed and looked back in front of him.

The glass sliding doors were opened for them and they stepped pass the doorframe and into the warm night, illuminated by hundreds of pale candles and the stars above. The shadows flickered. There was a secret scent from the garden below and the sugary aroma of the candles. The table was circular. A white cloth was elegantly covering it. The setting looked very romantic. You could half expect a pair of doves to hover over the table, singing a loving tune to each other. It was a bit too dreamy for Harry, really.

He felt Draco stiffen beside him.

Pansy was already there. She was sitting at the table, back straight. She was eyeing Harry openly.

"Hello, Mother," Draco said with a small smile that vanished when he turned to the other girl sitting across from Lady Malfoy. "Parkinson."

"Hello, Draco," they both said in those false voices you hear people get whenever they – say, pick up a telephone in our world.

Harry smiled, just as Hermione taught him to, and curtsied politely, which was returned with gracious nods. Draco moved to the table and courteously pulled the chair out for Harry to sit down, then seated himself between Harry and his mother.

There was the usual civil nattering like, "How are you?" "Oh, I'm fine, thank you! And you?" But afterwards, a silence drifted across the balcony. The pesky servant broke it by scrambling out onto the balcony and asking nasally what they wanted to eat. Draco ordered for both himself and Harry.

"You look familiar," Pansy said to Harry with a smile after the servant left. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she definitely saw him somewhere before.

Harry smiled back graciously. He, of course, knew where she remembered him from – the first night, the one where he served them at the dinner table in the dining hall. It was ironic that he was now dining with the royals.

"You might've seen her at the ball," Draco said airily. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry. I forgot. You didn't attend."

Pansy seemed to flush at what Draco was implying: she didn't come because she didn't belong. To come to a ball that was created with the intent of searching for brides would've been pointless for her. She was already turned down. She turned back to Harry. Her smile seemed to be more forced.

"What's the name of this land you're from, again?"

"She's not allowed to say," Draco interjected protectively.

"That's suspicious," Pansy said. "Isn't it, Lady Malfoy?"

She smiled. She was glowing today, a true lady in a radiant outfit. "It is, of course. But I'm willing to trust her if Draco is. As long as Draco has good reason to trust her, that is."

"Why do you trust her, anyway?" The question was directed at the blonde.

Harry was slightly affronted at the way both women spoke as if he wasn't there.

"I trust her because she trusts me. I don't suppose you would ever know the feeling of trusting and loving someone." He was speaking to both Lady Malfoy and Pansy. Pansy seemed silently infuriated, but Lady Malfoy only politely cleared her throat and looked at the empty plate.

The wine and appetizers – shrimp cocktail and fish eggs – arrived. It seemed that the workers were told that their cue for arriving was uncomfortable silences.

Harry nearly choked on the bitter whine. Pansy smirked and said, "It's very old. Very expensive. It came from my province. Do you have such riches back at your home?"

"They do, but having riches doesn't mean that drinks need to be foul. This is disgusting."

Pansy flushed, but Lady Malfoy didn't respond to her son's rudeness. She merely smiled, as if that was all she was capable of. Then again, she was probably noticing this about Harry as well.

"I do love how the two of you are dressed as Arogyn and Mihad," she smiled delightfully. "I find it very romantic. What do you think of their attires, Pansy?"

"Frankly, I think it's rather cheesy." She sipped on her wine elegantly.

Draco looked at her coldly but didn't say the nasty comment that was obviously on the tip of his tongue.

"That's fine. It is your opinion, after all. I do have a question, for you, though," Lady Malfoy changed her gaze to Harry and began to look at him closely.

Harry's smile twitched and he picked up the wine glass to sip on some more of it. Oh, Gods, she was asking him a question.

"You obviously weren't killed by your God. Draco was telling me about this God that would kill you if you ever took a step outside of your boundaries. What do you make of this?"

Draco glanced over Harry, who seemed to freeze up. "She was telling me earlier about how she thinks her God has a purpose for both of us. That's why she was spared."

Lady Malfoy nodded, but it was obvious she was tiring of Draco answering all of the questions for Harry.

When the piles of food finally arrived on silver platters, shimmering from the candles, Harry blushed and stared at his folded hands in his lap, covered by white gloves. One of the servers was a man he recognized from his first day as a servant.

"I won't beat around the bush any longer," Lady Malfoy said quietly after a few moments. Harry could barely see her through the added haze of steam and aroma. It was bad enough that he was deprived of his glasses. She was cutting her meat into small squares. "Princess, I want to know more about you to see if you deserve my blessings. I want to know why you want to marry my son."

Harry swallowed despite Hermione's warning – his Adam's apple would begin to bob, after all – and he hoped that Draco would somehow find a reason to reply for him again, but it was apparent from the silence that he was on his own.

"I," he cleared his throat. The squeaky, cute voice was forced. He sounded like a little girl with a horrible cold. "I want to marry your son, Lady Malfoy, because he's romantic, charming, and oh so clever. And, of course, good looking."

Draco hid his smirk. Pansy looked over at Harry and stared blankly. Lady Malfoy gave no other response but her smile and her nod.

"I can see that, yes. Is that the only reason why?"

He hesitated. "Because of my father's wishes for his province, of course, so that he will be protected by Lord Malfoy, but personally, I only love your son, Lady Malfoy. You're a woman too – surely you understand what it's like to fall in love and want to spend the rest of your life with someone."

"No, I don't know what it's like, but I suppose I can understand."

She paused and looked at her son, silently chewing on his food.

"And you, Draco? Why do you want to marry this young lady?"

"Isn't it obvious?" he swallowed. "All you have to do is look at her." He took another bite.

Draco had gotten over his initial nervousness, even though the task wasn't anywhere near complete. So many things could still go wrong. He was obviously taking too much pleasure out of this meeting. He was bending his head to hide his smirk; arrogance was seeping out of his every pore. Harry both envied and detested his ease. Pansy seemed attracted to his attitude. Lady Malfoy merely smiled and opened her mouth to ask:

"How do you hope to affect the commoners here in this province if you do become the next Lady Malfoy?" she directed the question at Harry.

Harry was taken aback. Draco paled, pleasure finally escaping him. They didn't go over political matters. They hadn't thought to.

Harry inwardly took a deep breath. If he didn't calm down, he wouldn't be able answer the question properly. Come on, man, think! How did he want to affect the common people?

Well, duh! _He_ was a common person. He knew what it was like to suffer and watch others – friends – suffer as well.

"I want to end their – ah – afflictions. Their suffering."

From the look on Lady Malfoy's face, it was an acceptable answer, but she wasn't finished:

"How?"

"More water supplication, especially during the drought seasons. More food, more schools for education, more protection against – er – corruption…"

"Lord knows, I need someone to keep a check on Draco's sleazy attitude once I'm gone."

Harry giggled – yes, _giggled_ – politely. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Pansy wasn't too pleased. Surely that was a good sign.

And man, wouldn't it be great if Harry truly could have the power to bring about such things to the common people?

"How do you plan on getting the money?" Pansy suddenly asked.

"Pardon?"

"The money. You need money to give more water and food and schools to the filthy peasants. And as for the so called 'corruption,' how else do you propose on keeping the peasants in check?"

Draco glared and opened his mouth to snap in reply, but Harry smiled and interrupted him. "That's fine, Draco. About the money, Miss Parkinson, I'm sure there wouldn't be any problem in finding some from the treasury. Every province has extra savings for necessities such as these." He knew this from looking over Hermione's shoulder at her work for weeks on end. "And if not that, you can always take away from the royal guards' salary."

"Excuse me?"

"It's a necessity," Harry shrugged.

"Necessity? These are peasants we're talking about."

"Yes, and without these peasants, you are nothing."

Pansy opened her mouth but seemed at a loss for words.

"And then – what was the other thing? Oh, yes… I think corruption in the royal guard isn't really a matter of control… it'll eventually make them – the commoners – angry. I mean," he racked his brain for the phrase Hermione used when he overheard her going over her research aloud. "What I mean to say is, when a government provides for the people and doesn't give them a reason to – er – get upset, then they won't. Get upset, that is."

Harry glanced away at Lady Malfoy's smile to Draco's deep stare. It seemed as if Draco were searching Harry thoroughly, yet he was only staring into his eyes. When Draco looked away and went back to concentrating on eating, he looked at Pansy, glanced back at Draco, then looked at Pansy again, who was glaring off into space.

"What you've said is very true," Lady Malfoy smiled. "You have a political and sensible mind. I'm sure you'll be a grand Lady, if you do marry my son."

"Thank you," Harry nodded to her.

There was a short silence before Lady Malfoy once again opened her mouth to question Harry:

"How many children do you and Draco wish to have?

At this, Draco couldn't hold back. He looked up from his plate and stared at his mother blatantly. "Mother, please! I don't know if that's any of your business."

"Of course it is."

Pansy seemed interested also, though in a more menacing way.

Harry almost smirked to himself. The situation seemed fairly similar. (It was practically the same scenario when Draco was pressing Harry for information that Harry didn't want to give. Well, what goes around comes around, yeah?)

"Well, er – we didn't discuss it, really," Harry could've laughed at the expression on Draco's face. "We will when we're ready."

Ding, ding, ding! It seemed he answered that question correctly also.

"Your wedding?"

"This we did discuss!" Draco intervened. "Hermione already has the plans written down on file."

"And the wedding night?"

It was Harry's turn to blush and gape like a foolish fish.

Pansy delicately sipped on her wine. "I've never seen a Lady that's embarrassed about speaking over pillowing matters."

"Ah, I apologize – our customs. Yes, our customs, they're very – er – different. They're different from your customs."

"Obviously," Pansy said. "I just hope you won't turn Draco away on his night."

"No, of course not." Harry glanced up when he felt Draco's intense stare, which left him when their eyes met for a brief moment. Harry had the fleeting thought that Draco was acting weirdly lately, and when he saw Hermione he could ask her about him, but then decided it was only his imagination.

A small boy came in through the glass doors and nervously sang for them on the edge of the balcony, out of the way but still close enough so that his voice could lightly float across the conversation. Many courses of ham and breads and soups later, they had just finished discussing and analyzing, 'The Epercural.' During the discussion, Harry and Draco managed to sneak in a few comments on the deepness of their love for each other. By this time, it was obvious then that Harry had Lady Malfoy's love and that she would give them her blessings by the end of the dinner. I mean, hell! Harry even managed to excuse Draco's lack of greeting towards Lady Malfoy when he chose to run to Harry instead. (He said, "We love each other deeply, Lady, that is the only reason I can think of that would have Draco act so coarsely towards you. We were both wrong, of course, but if I'm allowed to speak for your son for but a moment, we both love you very much. I don't think Draco meant to hurt you. He only meant to show love.") Pansy, seething silently, seemed to realize that Lady Malfoy was bound to give her blessings also.

"May I be excused?" she asked, disgust evident in her tone, after Harry finished his conclusion on Isis, Mihad, and Arogyn's relationship - Isis was in love with Arogyn, but Arogyn dismissed her and chose Mihad instead.

"Of course, dear."

She stood up, chair scraping against the floor. The little singer seemed startled at her sudden storm as she stomped off. Lady Malfoy smiled sadly.

"The poor child has an infatuation with Draco, as I'm sure you know. I'm afraid she's rather jealous of you, but… well, I can't control other humans' emotions. But it is late, and I believe I should follow Pansy's example in a few moments. But first, I must say that you, princess, have gained my respect, and I honestly can't picture anyone else as the next Lady Malfoy."

Harry flushed. "I'm honored, Lady – "

"Thank you, mother."

"Of course. I'm certain that you, Draco, now expect me to help you convince your father that this marriage is for the best."

Draco remained silent, but he didn't seem surprised at his mother's intuition.

"I'll do so, of course… but now, the night is late." She elegantly stood. "Good night, princess. Good night, Draco. I'm sure there is no problem with both of you spending more time together, if you wish…"

"We wish it," Draco said. "Good night."

"Have a good sleep, Lady Malfoy."

After his mother delicately glided away, Draco said, "You may go," to the singer, who seemed all too happy to leave. He left with a sweeping bow and literally ran away, being a child and not having properly learned how to leave a royals' presence.

"Thank the Gods. I swear that child was doing nothing more than howling," Draco muttered as he stabbed his meat with a fork.

"Really? I thought it was lovely."

"You can lose the voice," Draco said with a smirk. "No one's listening except me, now."

Harry blushed and cleared his throat as manly as he could.

"Do you think she can really convince your dad?" he asked after a moment of listening to the humming of crickets below in the garden. It was unnaturally hoarse and husky from the high-pitched tone he assumed for a few hours on end.

"Of course," Draco said, taking a drink from his narrow glass and grimacing with its bitterness. "My mother's specialty is twisting words around other people's mind."

Harry grinned sheepishly. "Pansy didn't seem so pleased, though."

"Good. If she's going to raid this castle, I might as well be entertained by her jealous rage." He looked up from his food and at Harry. A smirk crossed his lips and he rested his cheek against his fist, propped up by his elbow on the table. "You truly do look rather stunning."

The grin melted off Harry's face and he picked up an idle, forgotten grape out of a bowl and threw it at Draco's head – with perfect aim, too, despite the fact that Draco was nothing but a white and black blur to him. It bounced off of the pale skin and landed into his neglected pudding with a splatter. Harry let out a laugh – it really was funny to see Draco blink as a purple grape bounced off his forehead – which Draco followed casually with a hollow, sarcastic laugh that came along with a comment on Harry's maturity level.

They spent a while longer, simply speaking about nothings and laughing and teasing each other – Harry couldn't resist making fun of the expression on Draco's face when his mother asked about their future children.

"Children!" Draco shook his head. "Even if you really were a woman, I would refuse to have children with you."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows from the insult. "I wouldn't be such a bad mother."

Draco gave Harry an odd look that eased with realization and a laugh. "No, no! I didn't mean it that way. I simply hate children. I can't stand them at all."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Don't you _have_ to have children – "

"To continue the royal line, yes. But – well," Draco glanced at Harry. "That's why I'm marrying _you_."

Harry forced a flicker of realization onto his face, and nervously looked away when Draco began to eye him. Of course, he already knew why Draco was marrying Harry. He read the journal, after all – oh! The journal! Harry hoped that Draco would invite him to Draco's chambers again. He promised himself he would read the journal after tonight's dinner.

They finally left the row of waiting servants in the white room and pushed open the oak door –

"What took you so long?"

Hermione was standing in front of them, hands on her hips. Blaise was leaning against the wall, twisting a curl of black hair around his finger.

"You waited here all this time?" Harry gaped at the two of them.

"Of course! We're your escorts! We have to!"

Draco shrugged. "We were talking."

"For three hours after your mother left?"

"Yes, and?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed in her characteristic way. Draco moved forward and grabbed Blaise's hand, pulling him along. "Harry," he called over his shoulder. "Hermione will take you to your chambers. You'll stay there tonight."

Blaise allowed himself to be tugged down the hall and Harry stood there, watching them until they disappeared around the corner. He sighed. Well, that completely destroyed his plan; he would have to sneak in sometime, then, and soon!

(I just have to quickly make sure you note, however, that Harry wasn't really so disappointed or eager to read the blonde's journal. In fact, he was subconsciously relieved. Why? Well, Harry wouldn't be able to admit it to himself, but he didn't feel so comfortable with invading Draco's privacy anymore. In fact, if you dig down deep enough, I'm sure you'd find traces of the beginnings of guilt for – you know, Harry going around behind Draco's back, being a spy against the Malfoy family… hell, for all Harry knows, he could be helping to plan the very death of Draco Malfoy. But that was all buried deep, deep within, mind, so only you guys and I know about these feelings of his.)

"Come on," Hermione said with a sigh, unfolding her arms. "I'm sure you want to get out of that dress."

As they went up the staircase to Harry's tower, where his chambers resided, Hermione cleared her throat.

"Last night, Blaise told me that you and Draco were alone in his room."

"Yeah," Harry said. He looked over at Hermione for her to make her point, but she was merely staring at him.

…

"What?" Harry gave her an odd look.

"He didn't… you know… _take advantage of you_, did he?"

"No!" What? "Gods no!"

She looked immensely relieved. "What did you do, then?"

"We spoke. _That's all_."

They turned to face each other when they stepped off of the last stair. They stood in front of the large doors to Harry's small chamber.

"You've been doing a lot of speaking recently. The two of you, I mean."

"Hermione, what's going on? What's the point you're trying to make? And please, whatever it is, don't let it be what I think you're trying to accuse me of."

"I'm not accusing you of anything!"

"Then what're you trying to say?"

Hermione didn't say anything for a second, but then shook her head and pushed a lock of her tangled hair behind her ear. "You should change. You're beautiful, yes, but then you also weird me out when you're dressed up like this."

"You act as if I _want_ to be a cross dresser," Harry muttered. He gestured to his door and Hermione let out a small, "Oh!"

She took out her set of keys, unlocked, and opened his door and, after exchanging slightly uneasy goodnights and assuring Hermione that he didn't need help getting the dress off, Harry shut the door behind him.

He crossed the room and opened the windows so that the room would air out a bit.

A shadow moved. Harry jumped.

"Hello, Harry."

AN: I hope you liked that chapter. I'd love to hear more suggestions so that I can improve my writing, even if this is just a silly story.


	8. chapter eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

The hard thing about spying for the Order is that our spies don't know what they're looking for. The Order never really tells them what they want other than they want information about the Malfoy's. Of course, there is a _vast _range of data. And, while _you_ know that the Order wants information that might be helpful in the downfall of Voldemort, the _spies_ in this story don't. They might've had educated guesses – I mean, they obviously know that something will happen so that they and the common people will live happier, more peaceful lives – but they couldn't know how this was to come about. This means that they had to get the silliest bits of information about the Malfoy family, like that Lucius was dropped on his head as child and how much Draco detests fish.

The members of the spy headquarters in the Malfoy province have broken their backs for decades over gathering this information secretly. Several have died in the effort, as you know. Yet there never seems to be enough collected data.

You see, there was a data collector that would come periodically, though no one could actually tell when the bloke would show up. Sometimes he would come two days in a row, other times months after the last time he visited. He was a stern man, as stiff as a stick, with a hawk-like nose that and black eyes, the color of a calm night before a storm, and slick black hair. He had no patience for politeness – or mistakes. For protection against traitors, the members of the spy headquarters weren't allowed to know his name, as he wasn't allowed to know their names, but I'm sure you can guess who this pasty, greasy, and evil looking man is.

Whenever he did show up, a meeting would be held in the kitchen. The only three people that usually weren't allowed into the meetings were Ron, Harry, and Ginny, seeing that they were the youngest ones; but as you know, Harry was in the castle; and Ron and Ginny – well, Ron was nineteen and Ginny was sixteen. Fred and George reminded them daily that they needed to be twenty-one to attend the meetings and be on really important missions. It was a rule that Molly set down firmly when Bill and Charlie became eighteen and started insisting that they be allowed to go on important missions also.

Still, at the cheeky age of sixteen, Ginny was showing more and more of her older twins' qualities. Proof of this would be the fact that she managed to convince Ron to spy on the spies with her.

It was a chilly night, so the floor in front of the kitchen was uncomfortably cold and hard. Ron kept shifting and Ginny hit him quietly, signaling for him to stop; he was making too much noise.

"We're not supposed to be doing this," Ron hissed.

"Oh, hush up. If your bloody lover was here, then you wouldn't be complaining," she whispered back. She wasn't usually that agitated, but it seemed to her brothers that she was goring through her time of the month.

"Don't say that about Harry, Ginny; that's disgusting! And – and I'm not complaining – I'm just saying that – "

"Ronnie, what's the age that you consider a person to be an adult?"

"Huh? I – Eighteen, I guess."

"How old are you, Ronnikins?"

"Nineteen. You know that – "

"So don't you think that you deserve to listen to this meeting?"

"I – "

"Don't worry about it, big bro," she grinned and waved a hand, dismissing Ron's doubt. "You're an adult – you can listen to this meeting."

"What about you? You're only sixteen."

"I'm your special guest."

He rolled his eyes but didn't say anymore.

On the other side of the wooden door, the kitchen had a light blue haze to it from the moonlight, and the spies in it were scattered: Tonks was standing at the windows, as if on guard to make sure that no one was listening at the window sills; Kingsley was standing in the shadows near the kitchen door, his arms crossed. The man, Arthur, and Remus were sitting at the table in the center of the room, while Molly lingered near by uncomfortably. Everyone had a stern and serious face on, even the twins, who were sitting on either side of the kitchen door. Both of them knew that Ginny and Ron were on the other side, but they kept their mouths shut as they listened to the meeting. Frankly, they were proud of their little brother and sister; it seemed that they were finally learning tricks from the twins' trade.

"The spy is inside of the castle as we speak, but we didn't think it would be wise to risk two spies at once," Arthur was saying.

Fred glanced at George and they exchanged knowing looks: their MOTHER didn't think it would be wise to risk two spies at once, seeing that the only able spies were Fred, George, Bill, and Charlie.

"What you're trying to tell me is that you have a spy in there, yet no one is collecting information from him."

"Yes."

"That is the most idiotic, most foolish – " the hawk-like man paused and cleared his throat, bringing his hands together on the table and straightening his back. "Yes, it was smart to take advantage of his position, but what sense does it make to even have him there if no one is getting the information!"

"Listen, we're too concerned for his safety to worry about sending in anyone else in. We – we simply can't. Besides, there haven't been any good opportunities, no events, no nothing – "

"It's not very difficult to send in one of your spies dressed up as a slave."

"But – "

"By the end of this meeting, someone will go. Anyone. It can even be you, for all I care – as long as the information is collected. It makes no sense to have a spy there if no one is receiving his information," he repeated.

"Listen: since it makes no sense to have the spy there, we were thinking that you won't object to rescuing him – "

"No!" He cleared his throat. "No. You may not under any circumstances."

A heavy, rather confused silence fell over the kitchen and drifted outside to Ginny and Ron.

Arthur paused to assemble his wits. "We've been listening to the gossip on the streets. The rumors are that our spy's position's importance in the castle has quadrupled. He's more important than he even described to the last spy that went to him. We're worried about him. According to our analyzer, the chances that he'll be realized as a spy have risen along with his importance. Really, we just want him out of the castle."

"That's not your decision to make."

"But – "

"I won't repeat myself. That issue is closed."

There was a heavy silence. Molly seemed like she wanted to say something, but decided against it at the last minute; the twins shared looks; Ron, his hopes having skyrocketed at the prospect of his friend being rescued, now plummeted to the ground.

"Now that I believe we're clear on that topic," the data collector continued, "it's time for you to pick the one who will go to the castle to receive the data."

(Just to satisfy your own curiosity – if you have any at all – the reason the data collector doesn't want Harry to leave the castle is because, well, if the marriage is successful, then Draco won't be able to have any children. The Malfoy's rule will abruptly come to an end. The province will be thrown into chaos without leaders – at least, until Voldemort could find a replacement. That would be one less evil province Lord for the Order to worry about. But I won't focus on this fact too much, else I'll stray away from the real plot at hand. But now, perhaps you have just a taste of how immensely important Harry suddenly is. He's no longer a pawn of Draco's, but a factor deciding the ultimate future of the province as well.)

Tonks muttered that she would go to get the information. She wanted to make sure that Harry was okay.

"No. Someone might remember you from the ball," Kingsley said in his deep tenor. "I will."

"Are you kidding me? They would see you like a boulder in the middle of an open field!" Fred said before he could stop himself, but the point was already made.

"Molly," Arthur looked at his wife, who stiffened instantly.

"No, I will _not _– "

"At least let – er – one of our older sons go," Arthur said carefully, nervously glancing at the hawk-like man; he was always afraid of slipping someone's name by.

"Tonight," the man snapped his reminder. The older sons – Bill and Charlie, of course – were across the province, receiving the head quarter's direct orders. They were most likely to be the same as always: receive information on the Malfoy's.

"Mum, I can do it!" George frowned. "It's not like I'm incompetent or anything."

This was met with silence.

"The last time one of you went on a mission, you not only got the wrong source of information, but you killed three chickens and left a grown man with temporary amnesia,  
Remus said hesitantly, unwilling to insult the boys but needing to have the point made.

"That was his fault!" they both pointed at their brother.

"Neither of you are responsible enough. Wasn't there a younger son?" The data collector glanced around the room.

"Yeah, but he's only nineteen – "

"So?"

"Well, the age that we have them start missions is twenty one," Molly explained.

"I feel that nineteen is a perfect age. Is he responsible?"

"We don't know – he's never really been on a mission before…" Arthur said.

"He's always been great with getting the water," Tonks offered.

"Remember, he also found Harry." Kingsley was speaking of when Heero was wrongfully arrested by the royal guard. Ron was the one to find that he had been captured and ordered to the castle as a slave.

"Oh, that's true – "

"Perfect. Where is he?"

Ron's heart must've painfully stopped for a full three seconds as someone said that he should be in his room. Fred knocked on the door lightly with his foot as a warning, but it wasn't needed: both Ginny and Ron had scrambled away, down the hall, and into their respective rooms by then.

"What? No!" Molly put her hands on her hips and glared at the startled data collector before he could leave the kitchen. "I refuse to let you take my son – "

"I'm afraid you have no choice."

"Pardon me?" Everyone except the data collector knew that these were trademark warning words of Molly's.

"Hold on," Tonks said quickly, stepping in for the data collector. She walked over to Molly and leaned forward, whispering, "Molly, if you don't let one of them go…" Tonks sighed. "I mean, we don't know what'll happen to Harry! We don't know what's going on! When we send one of them, we'll know more, and that puts all of us in a better position. The sooner we're in a better position, the sooner we can get him out of there!"

Well, what Tonks said held truth, and eventually they were able to break down Molly's stubborn walls, with a lot of gentle pushing and carefully removing blocks, one by one. That is, the rest of her team was able to. The data collector couldn't quite say he cared about a mother's woes and, as everyone was reassuring Molly, he was marching down the hall and to Ron's room.

…

Ron had mixed feelings:

He didn't want to be on the mission: even though this was finally his chance to prove himself worthy of being on important missions and not collecting water from a river, he was scared out of his wits. But really, how do you say no to a face like the data collector's?

Yet, he did want to be on the mission: how could he not want to be? This was his chance to finally see Harry after – how long? Months now, really, even though it felt like years. Gods know, they would finally be able to talk to each other. Sure, there was the mission, but Ron was anxious to actually _talk _to Harry – you know, man to man; friend to friend; and not just spy to spy.

Still, no matter how badly Ron wanted to see Harry, the fact remained that he was seriously about to piss in his pants.

The castle was crawling with shadows and guards ready to jump out and stab Ron through his heart with their rapiers or spears. Every time there was a flash of movement, Ron's pulse nearly died on him. Every time there was some sort of echo, Ron imagined it was the last sound he would ever hear. The air was thin. There was a foul taste in his mouth. His feet were lead.

You can only imagine Ron's reaction when he heard, "What're you doing?"

He spun around, his heart thumping madly. He glanced around quickly, but merely saw a girl – perhaps his own age – with the most bushy hair he'd ever seen.

She was a royal. That was the second thing he noticed about her. Her clothing wasn't fancy, but it definitely wasn't peasant or slave robes either. He glanced around. There were no servants, no guards, and she didn't have a weapon.

She stepped closer and repeated, "What are you doing?"

"Er – I'm just – well, going to my – um – "

"Cabins? You're going in the wrong direction."

"No – not cabins, no – um – I mean to say – "

"Yes?" she prompted, slightly impatient.

"I mean to say… I was going to my working facilities."

"Why?"

"Simply because – er – I wanted to get used to my surroundings. I'm new here, you see."

"Yes, I realized. Where do you work?"

"The kitchens," he said instantly.

Her eyes narrowed. The third thing he noticed about her was that she was abnormally suspicious. Sure, if you meet someone in the halls you might be curious, but this was ridiculous.

"I see." She looked like she was itching to continue the interrogation.

"Could you point me in the correct direction, please?"

She did so, still eyeing him, and quickly welcoming him to the castle. He thanked her and started to walk away, glancing over his shoulder, only to see her still standing there and staring after him. As soon as he turned the corner, he ran as fast as his feet would carry him.

…

Ron hadn't merely told the girl that he was going to the kitchens as an excuse to get away from her; he really did need to go there. That's where he was ordered to go by the greasy man.

His heart still racing from the earlier encounter, Ron was in a tight cupboard, scrunched up and staring into darkness, trying not to fret over the millions of spiders he could practically feel crawling over him. Most of them were figments of his imagination, really, but try telling _that_ to him. He shuddered as one of them brushed over his hand.

According to the greasy data collector, a man would eventually open the cupboard door that had a fleshy scar on the surface and, once he saw Ron, yell over his shoulder that he needed to make a delivery. "What kind?" would be the answer back, which would be Ron's cue to say he needed to collect information. The man would yell something about – was it strawberry deserts? – in reply. He would close the door, and later – no telling how much later – someone else would arrive and ask who Ron needed to see.

He would say that he needed to see the spy, and he would be promptly taken to wherever Harry was.

Yes, it was as easy as that. While comforting him before he left, Remus assured him it would be once he got inside of the kitchens. The most dangerous part was actually getting into and out of the castle, and wandering through the halls – Gods, Ron could definitely confirm that.

Just as Ron was starting to wonder just how long he would have to wait until he could see Harry, the door suddenly opened. Ron's heartbeat started to thump against his ribs so harshly that he felt his head moving with the pulse. The white light blinded Ron and he grimaced. He squinted through the glare. There was a tiny man standing in front of the cupboard, blocking out only part of the sticky and messy kitchen. He didn't seem surprised by Ron at all. Ron's heartbeat started to slow down.

"I have to make a delivery," the man yelled over his shoulder in a squeaky voice.

"Okay, what kind?" a rough voice shot back. The man looked at Ron expectantly.

"I need to get information!" Ron hissed.

"Blueberry deserts." Ah – it was blueberry, not strawberry.

"All right!" came the reply. The man looked back at Ron and eyed him blankly.

Ron glanced around nervously.

The man shrugged and closed the door, silencing Ron from the outside world once more and leaving him with his only companions: the spiders and darkness.

But just to hurry things along – as in, put this section of the story into fast forward:

Hours later: another man came back. He roused Ron from a fitful sleep. The man started to lecture Ron aimlessly. Ron went along with the act. He was a new slave learning the rules. He was taken through the halls. Upstairs. To a tower. No trouble along the way; only curious glances. The man fished out a key. Opened the door. Told Ron to wait in the room. The door closed. Ron was locked inside.

And now, at a normal pace:

Ron glanced around the room. His jaw practically dropped.

Sure, walking through the castle, he was able to get a taste of the riches and splendors the royals dwelled in daily. But this room – it was really something! He walked around, touching the silks and the shiny wooden furniture. He looked out of the closed glass window. The view was just as amazing. Hell, from way up here he could even see an edge of the forest in the distance!

This was Harry's room? Ron smirked. It seemed Harry wasn't having too many problems here in the castle.

He glanced into the closet. It was lined with dresses of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Did Harry really have to wear those things? Ron screwed up his face and closed the closet doors shut with a snap.

It was disgusting that Harry had to wear dresses, and he was sure that Harry would agree, but both knew that it was necessary for the future of the citizens of the province.

He dove for the shadows before he even consciously acknowledged that he'd heard voices outside of the door. One of them – one of them was Harry's, he was sure of it! He heard the door being unlocked, saw the doorknob twisting.

"No, I don't need any help – yeah, I'm sure. Good night."

The door closed firmly behind Harry. He sighed and crossed the room, muttering to himself incoherently. He opened the window and gazed out of it for a moment.

Ron was almost frozen with shock.

Harry… was wearing a dress.

Yeah, okay, cue the sarcastic comments, the rolling of the eyes, and whatnot, but really! The sight shocked Ron, even though it was to be expected. It took a while before he could make the connection that he was supposed to say something. Rather awkwardly, almost shyly, and definitely uncomfortably, he said with a small smile, "Hello, Harry."

Harry must've had a heart attack.

"Ron! What – how – ?" Harry stared around the room, as if expecting some more of his comrades to pop out of the shadows.

"You have a sucky welcoming committee."

"That's because I didn't know you were coming! Jeez, I – " Harry almost wanted to hug Ron, but he didn't think that would go over too well, considering… "Er… I should change."

Ron nodded in agreement uncomfortably. Harry pulled his stash of men's slave clothing from underneath the bed and, with help from Ron, he managed to get the finicky dress off of him. Back in his most comfortable element, he was more at ease. They lit the candles, letting Ron better admire the room in the light.

"Why are you here?" Harry asked once they sat down on the bed.

"I'm on a mission!" Ron grinned. "I have to get information from you."

"Seriously? I can't believe Molly let you – "

"I know! I mean, mum didn't have a choice, really, since the data collector said I had to go – "

"Didn't she fight?"

"Of course! But the others managed to calm her down. Can you believe it, Harry? No more fetching water – "

"Or walking half across the province to get bread."

"We're real spies now!" Ron whispered, an extremely-close-to-crazy gleam of excitement in his eyes.

Harry grinned. "Yeah. Now we can – " he stopped. He was going to say, 'Now we can help kill the Malfoy's,' but for some reason that seemed… _wrong_. "Now we can help the Order," he said instead. "I mean, really help them."

"Yeah, I know. And Ginny can do those chores now," he smirked. "So, where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"The information."

"…Oh, shit."

"What?" Ron looked at him blankly for a moment before realization dawned on him. "Oh, Gods – Harry, please tell me you have the information."

Harry shook his head and said defensively, "I haven't had a chance to get it. I mean, I was going to read Draco's journal tonight, but he wouldn't let me stay in his room. He's… er…" he swallowed and blushed, remembering how Draco had tugged Blaise along towards his room. "He's busy." His mind started to wander, and he realized that the two of them must've been well into it by then. He couldn't help but feel slightly jealous – not in _that _way, he told himself, but rather that Draco would just get rid of him just so that he could be with Blaise.

Ron raised an eyebrow and nodded, his wide eyes staring at Harry. "So… no information?"

"No. Not for now, anyway. I mean…" Harry pushed himself off of the bed. "I mean, I can get the information! I'll do it as soon as possible! Tomorrow morning, in fact. When do you go?"

"Preferably by the end of tonight," Ron replied. "But I can stay an extra day. I'm sure everyone will understand."

"Okay. I'll get it as soon as possible."

"I wish you were coming with me."

"Me too." Harry groaned and fell back onto the bed. "It's not as bad as you'd think, though."

"Well, yeah – I can see that." Ron grinned. "Look at those – " he pointed to the candle holders. "Are those real?"

"What? Are they real gold, you mean? Yeah. There's enough gold in this castle to take care of all of the poverty in all of the provinces, I'm betting."

"If I were you, I'd try to find a way to smuggle those things out of here. Do you know how much those are worth?"

"Yeah, I could guess."

"I would love to live in a place like this."

"Nah. You would go crazy if you stayed here. First off, there's this guy that's a complete jerk – "

"You mean Malfoy's son?"

"No, I mean his royal slave or servant or whatever the hell he is. There're times when I just want to strangle the guy, you know?"

"Is he a wimp?"

"A bit, I guess. He looks it, anyway. And then there's this girl."

"Is she cute?"

Harry shrugged. He'd never really thought of Hermione as 'cute.' "Maybe. I guess. She's just really strong, you know?"

"Like Pansy Parkinson, you mean."

Harry couldn't help himself but laugh. "How do you know about that?"

"Are you kidding? Everyone knows about Parkinson and her – er – preferences."

"She isn't really a lesbian, you know. Draco just said she was so that he wouldn't have to marry her."

"Really? Man, I was convinced it was true. It's kind of disappointing that she isn't."

"And Hermione isn't like that, either. I just mean she's the type that's independent and might piss you off a bit."

"Oh." Ron seemed even more disappointed. "Hermione, was it? Weird name."

Harry grinned. "Yeah, it is. I think she's foreign – from a province far, far away."

"How's Malfoy's son?"

"Draco? He's got a royal stick stuck up his ass 24/7, he's bloody annoying, conceited, snobby, needs to be hit over the head… To keep it short, Ron, he's an asshole."

"I'm not surprised."

"You would hate it here."

"I'm starting to think I would."

Harry watched Ron for a moment. He was staring at the lined rug on the floor, a frown lining his forehead where a few strands of red hair were. He was deep in thought.

"You didn't have any trouble getting here, did you?"

"Now that you mention it…" he sighed and looked up. "I got caught. Not by a guard," he added hastily when he saw panic spread across his friend's face. "No. It was by some royal girl."

"Oh yeah? It might've been one of the family royals, or maybe even Parkinson."

"Nah, she wasn't ugly. She had really bushy, brown hair, though."

Harry faltered. "Hermione? You saw Hermione?"

"The girl you were telling me about?"

"Yeah! You said she had bushy brown hair?"

"Yeah. And dark brown eyes."

"She's the only one I can think of that fits that description. But – that's not possible. If you were in here, you couldn't have seen her going to her chambers just now…"

"She saw me a long time ago. Hours ago."

"Oh," Harry frowned. "You'll have to be careful. If she sees you a second time and gets suspicious, she'll definitely alert someone – "

"Harry," Ron stood up off of the bed.

"Huh? What is it?" Harry watched Ron carefully. "Are you okay – ?"

"Harry, let's get out of here."

"What?"

"Yeah! Let's go! I mean, I was just thinking, you don't belong here! You belong back at the headquarters."

"You're… kidding, right?" Harry knew that Ron wasn't, but he figured that after he asked such a question, Ron might've come to his senses. But he didn't:

"Does it look like I am? Come on, we can leave – now! It might be kind of hard to do it, but we can at least try."

"What about the mission?"

"To hell with the mission. Hell, to hell with the Order!"

"No, I can't. _We_ can't."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because we've got an obligation and a responsibility!"

"You never gave a damn about responsibilities before."

"Ron?"

"What?"

"My responsibilities before were getting bread for dinner. Of course I didn't give a damn! But things have changed. What I'm doing here is important and can affect the people of this province. It's the same with you!"

"What's wrong with you, mate? The Harry I know would've jumped up at the chance. What? Has wearing a few ribbons and frills made you different?"

Harry glared at Ron, picked up a pillow, and whacked him across the face with it. Of course, no matter how shocked Ron was at first, he had to defend himself – so he grabbed the other pillow and hit Harry back, as hard as he could. At first, it was a _real _fight (with pillows), but, as is expected, the fight ended with fits of laughter (I mean, really: have you ever had a pillow fight where you _didn't_ laugh?) As silly as it sounds, that's the way it happened – and, frankly, neither wanted to fight when they hadn't seen each other in such a long time

"But no, really," Ron grinned after they both heaved truces. "Why won't you leave?"

Harry smirked and rolled over on the now thoroughly rumpled sheets. "I've got a purpose here, Ron."

"Eh. You've got a purpose back in the headquarters, too."

Harry gave that some thought, but didn't say anything else on the subject. Eventually, Ron began to update Harry on what had happened at headquarters while he was gone before they called it a night.


	9. chapter nine

CHAPTER NINE

"Draco."

"Hm."

"Get rid of Harry."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I think this is the fiftieth time we've gone over this, Blaise. I'm not getting rid of Harry. I need him for my plan."

"If you didn't need him, would you get rid of him?"

"Why should I?" Draco leered. "I could use him as my personal slave."

"What? But I'm your personal slave!"

"You can easily be replaced." Draco was, of course, teasing – in his own vicious, cruel little way – but Blaise seemed to take it personally nonetheless:

"What does he have that I don't?" Blaise glared.

Draco shrugged his shoulders, eyes drifting shut.

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "I can't bloody stand you! You're a pompous asshole, that's what you are. A careless, heartless, pompous asshole."

At this, Draco – eyes still shut – shoved Blaise away so roughly that he fell off of the edge of the bed with a dull clunk. "And you're an idiot."

He promptly jumped up and wrapped the tangled bed sheet around his naked waist. "That hurt, you bastard!"

"You never complained before."

Blaise flushed and pointedly ignored the statement. "He's dirty! I bet the last time he took a bath was weeks ago."

"Actually, he took one last night."

An accusing shine sparked in Blaise's eye. "And how do you know that?"

"Gods, first Hermione, and now you." He glanced over. "What? Are you going to accuse me of attempting to molest him too?"

"I wouldn't put it past you!"

"Okay, so I've taken what I've wanted in the past, but Harry is different."

"How so?"

"I haven't touched him."

"You want to, though!"

"Is that a crime?"

"Well… no… but Draco, Harry is a _peasant_!"

"Your point?"

"My point is that you're bringing yourself down to a pitiful, lowlife level by wanting a peasant – and an ugly one at that."

"Is that so?"

"Yes!"

When Blaise saw that his words hadn't affected the receiver, his scowled. "I suppose your father has reason to think you're pathetic," he muttered.

At that, Draco sat up and stared at Blaise so icily that he immediately turned his gaze decidedly away from Draco.

"Get. Out."

Blaise didn't even try to redeem himself. He bent over to get his clothing from the floor.

"NOW."

"I'm just – "

"Get the hell out of my room! NOW! Bastard!"

Draco grabbed his journal off of the nightstand and threw it after Blaise. It barely missed his head as he jumped down the three stairs, clothes nearly flying out of his hand. He escaped through the door, but before shutting it, he stuck his head through the narrow amount of room he left between the door and the doorframe. "You're such a goddamned asshole!" Draco grabbed a wine glass and hurled it at the door, which slammed shut before it could hit Blaise, thus making the glass explode with a crash. (A few corridors away, two servants looked up, startled at the crashing noise.) He opened the door again and stuck his head back in. "You're disgusting! You want a bloody peasant!"

And with that, he slammed the door shut.

"Wretched whore," he cursed. "I should throw you out onto the streets!"

There was a moment of heated silence before Draco muttered, "Goddamned whore."

A few seconds later, "Whore."

A few after that he added, "Hypocrite."

After one last, "Hypocritical whore," Draco was satisfied that Blaise had been called enough appropriate names; he laid back. And 'hypocrite' seemed to be the most fitting title of all; after all, before Draco 'kidnapped' Blaise from Pansy, he was just an ordinary indoor slave and of the same rank of a peasant. It was only because of Draco that he became a royal slave working in the Harems, and therefore gained a higher ranking… if that isn't confusing at all.

His mutterings continued for a while before he finally pushed himself away from the bed, naked as the day he was born, and sauntered over to where his journal and fallen. He carefully picked it up, cautious of the splinters of the shattered glass that were scattered over the floor. He leafed through the pages until he got to the page where he stopped before he turned his attentions to the impatient Blaise.

He returned to his bed, picked up the quill he used earlier, dipped it into ink, and paused.

There were so many thoughts racing through his head that he knew he wouldn't get a wink of sleep if he didn't write them down on paper. After a long moment of thought, he started to furiously scratch away.

…

The floor underneath the bed wasn't exactly what you would call comfortable, but Harry made sure to give Ron the best of the silk sheets and a couple of extra pillows for good measure. Both were afraid that a servant would burst in and find Ron if he slept anywhere else.

When he woke up the next morning, Ron was alone in the room. He stayed about, not really sure what was happening and where Harry had run off to, but he decided that he would be back soon enough – hopefully before the end of the night. He didn't want to face his mother if he stayed for another day. He could only imagine how she was acting now.

(In fact, at that very moment, Molly locked herself into her room to mourn for her lost son while Bill and Charlie, having returned hours ago, left to see if their little brother was in the line of prisoners waiting to be executed for that morning.)

Frankly, Harry left Ron suddenly because Hermione woke him up with a jolt. He instantly remembered Ron lying underneath his bed, as if his mind had been pondering on his unexpected presence all night while they slept, and nervously left the room with her as quickly as possible.

"The Lady wants to have breakfast with you," she said as they walked down the winding stairs of the tower, seemingly not detecting Harry's strange behavior. "Blaise is bringing a dining dress from the Harem – "

"_Another_ one? I already have ten dresses!"

"Harry, you have to remember: you are a Lady, and a Lady always has more than only ten dresses."

Harry didn't reply. He knew Hermione was only joking around, but – whether she meant to or not – she was also speaking the truth. He was man, yet he had the status of a Lady. Maybe Ron was right last night. Maybe he really did change somewhere in between the peasant clothes and the lace and frills. (As if his life as the foreign princess needed to become more complicated.)

"You know, the weirdest thing happened yesterday," she added, almost as if it was a second thought.

"Oh, yeah? What?"

"Before we started getting ready for dinner, I met this slave."

Harry almost tripped over his own feet.

"But the thing is, I don't think he really was a slave, you know? It was just the way he held himself. He was… strange. And he had the reddest hair I've ever seen!"

Harry forced a smile. "Well, there are a lot of – er – weirdoes in this place, yeah?"

She smirked, as if wanting to note that he was one of them, but she didn't say anything.

When they got to the chambers, Draco was already dressed semi-formally and standing impatiently at the balcony doors. "What took you so long?"

"Long? It barely took ten minutes to go get Harry."

"Where's Blaise?" Harry glanced around and about.

"I didn't send for him," Draco muttered. "I had Rufus deliver the dress." He nodded his head in the direction of the bed, where it was displayed. "I told him that I wanted to deliver it to you personally… as a gift of sorts."

"You had a fight, didn't you? With Blaise?" Hermione crossed her arms. "What about?"

Harry started towards the dress, but paused and turned around when Draco said his name.

"Me? You fought about me?"

Draco nodded indifferently. "Blaise is jealous."

"Of what?" he scoffed. "I mean," Harry continued to the bed and picked up the dress, scowling at it. "If he would rather wear these blasted things in my place, then please – let him!"

Hermione smiled and walked up the three stairs towards the bed. "He might not look as good as you do in them," she teased. "Come on, take off the slave clothes."

Harry sat down on the bed and pulled off his shirt. "Er – can't you turn around?"

Hermione sighed exasperatedly and turned around, just in time to catch Draco's intense stare at Harry. He looked away almost immediately and turned back to walk to his desk. "I'm going to the dining hall."

"Without me?" Harry stood up; Hermione was starting to help him into the dress.

"Oh, blast it all, I forgot the wig!" she hissed before Draco could reply. "I'll have to go back to your room to get it."

"No!" Harry cried out.

Draco and Hermione blinked at him.

"I mean – er – " he glanced about. "Can't I go with you? I know where I left the wig – it's in the closet."

"No point in both of you going," Draco said with a raised eyebrow. "I'll stay here and wait with you," he said to Harry.

Hermione stared at him suspiciously. "No, I don't think that would be a very good idea."

"Why not?" Draco smirked, though his gaze that turned to her was steely.

"Because you need to go to the hall early enough to prevent Pansy from being a guest. Isn't that why you wanted to leave so quickly?"

He didn't answer immediately. "Yes."

"Then go," Hermione said as she laced up the green dress in the back.

Draco threw an easy glance at Harry before sauntering out of the door; which was strange to Harry, because he could practically feel Draco's animosity radiating off of him.

(Really, you readers and I should agree with Draco when he thought that Hermione was a bit out of line to prevent him from staying in his own room. He wasn't thinking about touching Harry; only waiting for him, honest to the Gods!

Of course, because Hermione thoroughly and completely felt that Draco would try to harass Harry, she didn't – under any circumstances – want the two alone. It wasn't that she thought Harry was weak and in need of protection, but more that Draco Malfoy was notorious for having his way with whomever he fancied. Draco made the mistake of admitting to Blaise that he found Harry attractive, who then of course told Hermione, who couldn't help but keep an eye on the blonde and Harry.

Imagine how suspicious she must've been when Blaise let it slip that Harry and Draco spent a night together. Alone. Even though Harry had his own personal, private chambers.

See, this is what Hermione thought happened that night:

Blaise, even though he wanted to stay, was dismissed by Draco, leaving Harry and Draco alone.

Harry was getting comfortable in the small corner; he wasn't really tired, even though he earlier told Hermione that he was – hell no, it was way too early to be sleepy – but it wasn't as if he had a pile of "What To Do" lists, especially since Draco barely let him do anything.

The floor was hard and cold. It smelled moldy when his face was pressed up directly next to it.

"Harry," Draco called over. Harry sat up in a split second, shocked that his name was being called. When he realized that it was only Draco (who else would it be?) he pressed his lips tightly together and pretended to be bothered.

"What?"

"Come over here."

Harry took a second or two before getting to his feet and ambling over, down the three stairs, pass the sofa, and to the desk that was beside the shelves of epics.

"What?" he asked when he arrived next to Draco.

He was sitting on his chair and unsubtly eyed Harry. "Are you comfortable?

Harry blanched. "What?"

Draco nodded his head over to the corner. "Are you comfortable sleeping there?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows. "You made me get up and walk all the way over here just so that you could ask me that?"

"Just answer the question."

"No, I'm not."

"You can sleep on the sofa, if you like."

"Really?" Harry's eyes brightened slightly. The sofa wasn't big, but it wasn't cold, hard, or moldy either.

"Hell, you can even sleep on the bed if you want to. It's big enough for two, don't you think?"

"Well, sure." Harry glanced over at the bed. "I guess. Thanks." He stood there for a moment, almost suspiciously – he knew that Draco wasn't one to share his things or his space – but he looked away with a curious quirk of his eyebrow after a moment.

He started to back away before turning completely, walking to his corner, gathering his sheet and pillow, and climbing onto the bed. He looked back at Draco to make sure that he hadn't misunderstood Draco in anyway, only to pause. Draco was simply sitting there, staring at him. It was slightly unnerving, so Harry quickly looked away and settled into the bed.

He glanced over his shoulder. Draco was still staring.

Harry cleared his throat and turned his head away. Draco probably just spaced out. After all, how many times had Harry spaced out while looking at someone and then been accused of staring?

Conveniently enough, Draco became tired, took out all of the lights, and slid into the bed soon afterwards. Harry was hugging the very edge of the bed, not wanting to disturb Draco's space and start an argument.

"You'll end up rolling off of the bed if you stay so close to the edge," Draco said with a smirk. "You can come closer."

"All right," Harry agreed and shifted over ever so slightly.

"Harry?"

"Hm?"

"You sleep with clothes on?"

That was enough Harry to bolt straight up into the sitting position. "Well, of course."

"It's a pretty warm evening," Draco rose a questioning eyebrow as Harry looked down at him, sheets only covering his waist and leaving his pale chest naked for all to see, though only Harry was there to see it. "Oh, don't tell me you're embarrassed," he smirked. "I'm not Hermione, Harry. You can undress in front of me. Unless you have something to hide…"

"No, what would I be hiding?"

"Then you're scared," Draco concluded.

"I am not!"

He shrugged. "Yet you still haven't undressed."

Harry hesitated. Then he threw the sheets off and climbed out of the bed, focused completely on showing the blonde that he was no coward. Draco hid his smirk.

I'm sure you can imagine where the rest of the night led – in Hermione's paranoid and twisted imagination, anyway. All Draco would have to do is accuse Harry of being afraid, and he could have what he wanted at anytime during the night. Hermione didn't know Harry extremely well, but she was able to understand that Harry's pride and dignity was very important to him. If she realized this, then she was sure Draco had also. She could only picture Draco using this fact to his advantage.

And, as you know, this is what really happened:

Nothing.

They spoke, read, and went to sleep. Nothing happened, and all Draco was guilty of was having perverted thoughts that he easily subdued. Hermione had the mindset of, 'guilty until proven innocent,' however, and her version of the night they spent alone was ever fresh on the edge of her mind.

Please excuse the minor interruption. Harry and Hermione are in Draco's chambers, Hermione having shown some of her suspicion by not allowing Draco to stay alone in the room with Harry, thus making Draco infuriated. Hermione is on the verge of leaving to Harry's chambers – where, of course, Ron is hiding.)

"What was that all about?" Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione, who shook her head and tied the white ribbon around his waist.

"Wait here. I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Okay. And it's in the closet!" he called after her, hoping that she wouldn't check under the bed and that Ron overslept like he usually did. After a few minutes, he decided that Ron most likely had overslept and that there was no point in worrying.

He sat down on the bed. "What was that all about?" he repeated aloud to the walls, who – of course – ignored him. Was Hermione afraid of him being left alone with Draco because she thought he'd – what was the phrase she used last night? – 'take advantage of him?'

What did she think he was? Some pitiful, teary eyed girl that needed to be rescued before she was raped? He could take care of himself! If Draco ever tried to do anything, he would simply punch him in the nose.

Harry looked at the desk, where Draco had been before he left, and a memory slipped past him – the familiar sight of the blonde sitting at his desk, reading or writing in his journal while Harry was –

Wait! The journal! The information! The mission!

Harry jumped off of the bed and scrambled over to the journal, careful not to trip on the hemming of the dress. The journal was picked off the desk immediately and leafed through. Harry slipped into the chair, smoothing the dress down like Hermione taught him to, and stared at the entries.

Disappointment instantly settled to the bottom of his stomach. As he scanned through the pages, there wasn't much written in the journal – only Draco's blatant hatred for Pansy, a lot about his intense studies, and "his father's idiocy growing…"

He stopped at the last entry and scanned through it, but started at the beginning again when Draco mentioned Harry and Blaise's name:

Blaise is as annoying as ever. He's green with envy, but I'll never understand why he's so jealous of Harry. Harry is attractive – in a sort of rugged way, I suppose – but Blaise will always be more beautiful than him. His eyes might not be as stunning as Harry's, but his skin is softer, his hair smoother… Either way, a jealous Blaise is like a hungry tiger. I don't know what he's capable of, but while he's angry and jealous I'll have to keep him away. I'll just exclude him from this project and send him back to the Harems. Rufus can do all of the little errands Blaise ran, but there's no point in involving him with Harry and Hermione now.

Lucius will need to be convinced that Harry is the perfect bride as soon as possible. When I speak to my mother about kicking Parkinson the hell out of my home, I'll bring him up. Hermione will also need to be spoken to. I'm almost sure that we can convince him that Harry will be the perfect bride, but the man is such a stubborn imbecile… I can't help but doubt that he'll immediately agree. It'll take some work, of course. I'm sure Harry can play the part of the perfect bride very well if he wanted to, however, so I'm not very worried when it comes to him.

Ah, and back to Harry once again. It's almost as if I can't escape thinking about him. Every time I glance in the direction of the corner he used to sleep in, I'm almost surprised that he isn't sitting there in his pile of sheets and pillows. I want to invite him back – just to talk, of course – but Hermione won't ever let him come. Blaise keeps asking me to get rid of him, and how I obviously can't… but what will I do after I marry him?

Will I have him executed for something he didn't do? Should I set him free? Or could I even reveal to all that everything was a sham and let my father take his wrath out on Harry? I was always bent on simply revealing him and letting my father execute him, but, to be frank, that seems the most inhumane and barbaric of all. I don't know. I suppose things will fall into place –

At that, Harry snapped the journal shut.

Remember, Draco promised Harry freedom after Harry did everything for Draco – that was really the main thing that kept him going, no matter how embarrassing the circumstances were! That and the thought of finally being able to return to headquarters after being set free. So it's perfectly understandable, of course, that a sort of hatred for Draco flooded Harry at that point; he sat there, flushed with rage at being betrayed.

Draco promised him freedom; so then why the hell was Draco thinking and writing that he didn't know what to do with Harry after they got married? Why was he writing about execution, and only considering (instead of deciding) that he would set Harry free afterwards?

Blaise was right after all. It was such a long time ago when he said that Draco would probably behead Harry when he was through with using him.

Harry, clouded with anger, barely registered that he was supposed to continue reading in case important information was mentioned. Everything he had preached to Ron about – you know, about how important responsibilities were – was thrown out of the window as anger at being deceived consumed his every thought.

"Harry?"

Hermione shut the door. "What're you doing?"

Harry didn't hide his glare and said shortly, "Nothing."

"What's wrong?" she asked as she moved closer and held up the wig to put it on his head.

Coldly, "Nothing."

"Here, I'll take your glasses – "

"No."

"What?"

He flinched away, ripped the wig off of his head, and threw it at the floor. "I'm not going."

"Harry? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I already told you!"

He looked utterly ridiculous: unbelievably fuming and irate, he was trying to untie the bow, but his arms couldn't get into the correct angle. Hermione pulled at it and it tumbled down to the floor. She started to unlace the dress.

"Would you like me to tell Draco and Lady Malfoy that you're not feeling well?"

It took a moment for Harry to nod his head.

"All right," she smiled as she finished unlacing it. "And you know, you can always tell me what's bothering you…"

He nodded.

She smiled reassuringly and, a moment later, was gone. Harry was in a fog as he redressed in his male clothes. He didn't leave, however, and go back to his room, never mind the fact that he was in the bastard's room. He was afraid that if he went back to Ron, he might really agree to leave and forget about the Order and the mission.

He spent nearly an hour of calming himself down and giving himself a pep talk (he could survive, everyone else at headquarters would rescue him if Draco actually decided to have him executed… you know, that sort of thing.)

It was stupid of him anyway, he realized, to ever trust a tyrant like Malfoy.

AN: Thank you so much for all of the reviews! I feel special.  Um… Yeah… As you can see, I'm slowly but surely getting to the blessed Harry/Draco part. Someone even mentioned that it seemed that there was almost zero to none emotion between the two. I'm sorry it took so long, but with this particular pair in this particular story, I deemed development necessary. And I'm also sorry that updating is taking so long! Updating this story actually depends on whether my phone line is working or not – and it wasn't working for a long time.


	10. chapter ten

CHAPTER TEN

"Why didn't you come yesterday?"

"I wasn't feeling well."

"Oh, yes? My mother was greatly disappointed."

"Is that so?"

"Quite. I must say, I was also – "

"Don't you have to go to Hermione's? You know, so that she can teach you stuff?"

Draco sighed and looked out of Harry's window in the way that a child might because he was deprived of playing outside because of rain. Harry was dressed in his drab, male slave clothes, Draco in his royal attire. Draco earlier asked why Harry wasn't wearing the more comfortable clothes he'd been given, but Harry said that he would prefer to wear something that belonged to him – and it wasn't quite what he'd said that almost hurt Draco's feelings, but really the way he'd said it.

A nearly forgotten book lounged on the bed; Harry had been reading before Draco interrupted him by knocking on the door. Harry only opened the door because he thought that it was Hermione; now he regretted not asking who it was first.

"Parkinson is still in the castle," Draco said practically airily. "My mother wouldn't let me throw her out."

"How sad."

Harry's cold and bored tones seemed to bounce off of a shield surrounding Draco, though the effort of holding up the shield was wearing him down. He moved away from the window and sat down on the edge of Harry's bed. "Indeed. And Blaise is still angry at me."

Harry didn't bother to reply. His hand slid over to the book and he picked it up, scanning the pages to find where he left off.

"Hermione isn't very happy with me either," Draco continued, trying to ignore the fact that he was being ignored. "In fact, if she knew I was here with you, I doubt that I would escape her wrath without some sort of lashing, whether it be verbal or physical – "

"Why are you here?" Harry interrupted.

Draco shrugged. "I didn't feel like being with Hermione, and Blaise is in the Harems right now. Where else am I to go?"

"Anywhere but here."

"And besides Hermione, Blaise, and Pansy, it seems that you're rather upset with me too. Why is that?"

Harry didn't reply.

"I don't think I've done anything to you," Draco said broodingly.

"Besides keeping me and my family in poverty for generations?" Harry threw a glare with no warning at Draco, who caught it with surprise.

"Harry, I haven't kept you and your family in poverty. My father has, yes, and my grandfather, and my great grandfather, but not me."

"You will when you're Lord."

Draco genuinely laughed at Harry and his stupidity. "I will never be Lord, thanks to you. Or don't you remember?"

Harry flushed and turned away. He'd forgotten exactly why Draco wanted him, a male, to be the next Lady Malfoy: to help prevent Draco from succeeding his father.

"I suppose I'll leave now," Draco sighed and stood. "I would get more conversation out of a corpse if I tried."

At that, he stood up and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him; leaving Harry to vaguely wonder exactly why Draco didn't want to follow in his father's footsteps. Then he decided that he didn't care either way, because Draco was still a Malfoy.

Suddenly, the door opened again and Draco stuck his blond head back into the room. "Oh, and I don't care how sick you claim to be; tomorrow morning, you will have breakfast with me, my mother, and Lucius." At that, he left and shut the door behind him.

…

I think it's pretty safe to say that Lucius Malfoy thinks of himself as a God. He loves to think of himself as the grand master, cunning and clever. He is superior to all other humans, in his opinion. Even as a young child, he dreamed of himself as supreme Lord of all the land. He's conceited in the same sense that astronomers in our world thought that the Earth was the center of the universe; that is, he thinks that all things move around him, the core of power.

However, just as it turned out that the Earth actually moved around another source of power, it turns out that Lucius Malfoy revolves around another source as well: his wife, Narcissa Malfoy.

You see, Lucius Malfoy is a mere mortal – a man similar to any other man – no matter how much he would despise to admit such a fact.

And all men certainly have weak points.

Lord Malfoy's weak point is what he revolves around. He's oblivious and blind to the fact that he's deeply in love with the woman. Seeing that she's the Lady of Manipulation, she uses this to her advantage. She's a puppet master, he is her doll, and she has him tied up in strings. She can easily pull her little pinky and have Lord Malfoy do whatever it is she wants him to do. He'll never admit that he's so wrapped up – no, never in a million years. And, frankly, that's part of what helps Lady Malfoy: for a man in denial will never be able to acknowledge what is happening and so will never be able to act against it.

Therefore, it was only natural that, if Draco ever wanted anything from his father, he would turn to his mother and ask for help. This situation in which Draco needed Lucius's blessings for his and Harry's marriage was no different.

"That's the only way," Hermione confirmed Draco's plans after he had come to her, asking for advice. "I don't think anything else could really convince him, and even this might take a while to work."

"Of course. The man is too stubborn," he said bitterly. He added as an after thought, "Is there anyway to make sure that Parkinson isn't invited tomorrow? Harry gets nervous whenever he's around her."

Hermione shrugged. "You should probably speak to your mother about that. I don't think you'll be successful, though. She honestly enjoys Pansy's company, after all."

The two sat in silence for a while. They were in Draco's room, Draco sitting at his desk with his arms crossed over his chest and Hermione leaning against it. They were supposed to be studying the stars, but Draco thought it would be more useful to discuss the plan.

"Is something bothering you?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow at Draco's silence.

"Harry," he muttered.

"What about him?"

"He was upset with me earlier. I can't figure out why."

"I suppose forcing him into your little game has nothing to do with it," she said sarcastically.

Draco shook his head. "He's over that by now. This – coldness – was sudden. Unexpected."

"Could it be because he's bored out of his mind and you won't entertain him?"

"When I spoke to him, the first thing I did was I offer Rufus as an escort so that he could see the rest of the castle – but he declined," Draco said defensively. "He won't even go out onto the grounds dressed as a slave!"

"He won't?" Hermione was surprised.

Draco nodded his confirmation. "He said that he's upset because of us Malfoy's. It's our fault that he and his family are in poverty."

"Well, that is the truth."

"Perhaps it's my father's fault, but it's not mine," Draco frowned. "Besides, we're also protecting his ass from the outside world."

Hermione kept her thoughts to herself.

"What's more, I think he was lying," he murmured to himself. "I don't think that's the real reason he's upset with me."

"Are you sure that you weren't just being a complete asshole, like you usually are?"

He scowled at her. "How am I a complete asshole?"

"I could list out exactly how and why, but I'm too tired to stay up all night," was what she would've said if it wasn't for the fact that she wasn't in the mood to have another argument. "Why are you telling me all of this?" was what she asked in a rather exasperated tone instead.

"I want you to speak to him."

"What am I supposed to do?" she sounded flabbergasted.

"Figure out why he's upset with me, of course! And fix it!"

"And when I figure out why and pass on the information to you, what will you do with it? Stare at it blankly in the face?"

"No, of course not. Like I said, I'll have you fix whatever his problem is."

"Why can't you do that yourself?"

"I'm the one he's angry with, Hermione. He'll never listen to me. Hell, I could barely get him to talk to me."

"But why? You never cared if he was happy before."

"What is this, an interview? But if you must know… well, how can I ever expect him to do what I want if he's unhappy?"

Hermione was surprised that Draco had used her earlier point; it seemed that he listened to her after all. Later that evening, when she had to go to Harry to prep him before the big breakfast the next morning, she decided she would do as Draco asked.

Harry was sitting on his bed, reading as usual – he had nothing else to do – and he started when his door suddenly unlocked and swung open.

"Oh, Hermione," he smiled and folded the page in the book, sliding it away on the bed. "I thought you might be Draco again."

"Draco? He comes to your room?"

Harry shrugged. "Earlier this morning, he did." He easily read the uncomfortable expression on her face. "Don't worry, Hermione. He isn't – er – 'taking advantage of me.'"

She sat on the bed and sighed. "Even so…"

"Besides, I can take care of myself!"

"He's just rather selfish, that's all," she murmured. "He doesn't really care much about anyone but himself and what he wants."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry scowled. "Tyrannical family members are usually like that."

"Harry, you've – well…"

"What is it?"

"You've been acting strangely. First, you were too upset to eat with Lady Malfoy and Draco; and now Draco's come to me and told me that you won't leave your room. I thought that you told me you were bored out of your mind."

"I am."

"Then why didn't you…?"

"Don't feel like it," Harry averted his gaze.

"All right," her eyes narrowed doubtfully. "You know, he's also told me that you're angry with him."

"He's a jerk," Harry shrugged.

"You knew this all along, but you never acted so hostile against him before. Something's happened."

"It's not what you're thinking!" Harry was shocked that Hermione could really think that Draco had 'taken advantage of him' so adamantly.

"Then what is it? I'm worried."

"You're a girl. Girls are always worried."

She frowned. "And you're clearly avoiding the subject at hand."

"I just don't want to talk about it. Why do I have to talk about it? I mean, isn't the fact that Draco's a tyrannical bastard enough?"

"Perhaps. But he's not that much of a tyrannical bastard for you to be so angry at him."

Harry openly gawked at her. "What?"

"I mean – he isn't as bad as you think."

"Hermione – are you kidding me?"

"No."

"Are you sick?"

"No."

"Then what the hell is wrong with you?"

"Nothing is wrong with me."

"Hermione, his family has destroyed the people of my province for generations!"

"You're right, Harry – his _family_ has. His father, and his grandfather, and his great grandfather, but never Draco."

He almost said, "Not yet!" but he caught himself in time. Instead, his mouth opened and closed, but no words formed. Eventually, he got out, "I know – but that doesn't make a difference. He's still got tyrannical blood in him."

"You've put him into a box and you won't let him out at all, and only because of his family – "

"Wait, what're you saying? I thought you hated him!"

"I do! Well – hate is a rather strong word. I suppose I dislike him, but for his personality – not because of his blood. And besides, even his personality isn't that unbearable."

"You're not making any sense."

Hermione sighed and stood up. She seemed to be thinking for a while, her back turned to him, before she turned and said, "Harry, Draco is an asshole because he's vain, not because of his blood type. Don't you agree?"

"Well – fine, I suppose – "

"And a vain person such as him can be tolerated, right?"

"If you have a hell of a lot of patience, sure – "

"Great! Now that you understand me, Harry, and you agree with me, I don't think you have any reason to be so angry at him."

"Wait – what?"

"You just admitted that his vanity is tolerable. You don't hate him."

"You – you just – that's unfair, Hermione!"

"What's unfair?"

"You used a lot of big words in small sentences and confused me on purpose."

Hermione sighed. "You know, Harry, Draco sent me to you so that I could figure out why you're upset with him and so that I could curb your anger. Doesn't that tell you something about him?"

Harry furrowed his eyebrows and glanced away. "That he's too cowardly to come speak to me himself?"

"That he actually cares about you, whether he wants to admit it or not."

Harry was close to retorting with, "Malfoy's don't care," but he stopped himself.

"There's more, isn't there?"

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter – "

"It obviously does, Harry. Just tell me. Why are you so angry with him?"

Harry pursed his lips in agitation, glanced away, sighed, glanced back at her, took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, put them back on, cleared his throat, and said:

"He… well, I sort of… glanced at his journal."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Glanced?"

"Yes. Glanced."

"All right, go on."

"In his journal, I read… about what he's planning to do with me afterwards. He said – " Harry cleared his throat again. "He said that he's… well, he doesn't know what to do with me after we're – 'happily married.'"

Hermione simply watched him.

"That… he might execute me."

Hermione still stared at him blankly. "This is why you're so upset?"

"What do you mean?" Harry turned an almost confused glare on her; he had half-hoped, half-expected Hermione to jump up in exclamation and swallow all of her previous words. He wanted her to agree with him and declare that Malfoy was a tyrant. "Of course this is why I'm upset! He promised me that he would set me free! He shouldn't be confused or – or uncertain; he should know that he'll let me go right afterwards!"

Hermione shook her head. "He's unsure right now, Harry, but that doesn't mean anything. He's arrogant and selfish, but he's not murderous."

"What makes you so sure about that?"

"I've been his tutor for years. I know him. He would never…" Hermione shook her head again and she almost laughed at the thought. "Don't worry about it, Harry. I'm guessing he's unsure right now because he's confused about how he feels towards you."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Mostly that he knows that you're supposed to be just a toy used for his purposes – a rag doll, if anything – and yet he's realizing that you're actually a human, just like him."

"Hermione…"

She shook his head. "Just trust me, all right? He won't have you executed."

Harry expressionlessly nodded, thoughts whirling through his head like water that has been spun around in a jar or a bottle so that it created a miniature whirlpool. He glanced up when Hermione told him to seriously think about what she's said.

"Now, we have to concentrate on what'll happen tomorrow morning," Hermione sighed. "You don't need to know much, really – "

"Why?"

"Well, because Lady Malfoy will be doing – "

"No, I mean why are you really so concerned about this? And why would Draco care enough to send you here?"

"So that his plan will work, of course," Hermione said without batting an eyelash. "Tomorrow morning, Lord Malfoy won't give you his blessings if you glare at Draco every other second. Don't get me wrong: when it comes to me, I honestly do care about your wellbeing. That's why I agreed to help in the first place. You know that."

"But Draco doesn't? It's all about his plan?"

Hermione shrugged. "I can't answer for him, but I would suppose so. I suggest you ask him yourself if you really want to know."

Harry nodded and said, "All right, thanks," even though both knew that he would never ask Draco such a question. "What were you saying before…?"

"That you don't need to know much. Just be a subservient woman so that your boldness won't upset Lord Malfoy, and let Lady Malfoy do all of the sweet talking."

…

The next morning, Hermione formally escorted both of them to the Dining Hall; and it was then that Harry officially wondered what happened to Blaise, why he wasn't escorting them also, and why he hadn't seen the other annoying boy in what seemed like weeks.

It was a rare thought, however; rare because it was the only thought that wasn't drowned in nervousness. This tension churned in his gut and spread all over his body like a plague, or perhaps like frost growing on a window. It crept through his veins and turned them cold. He could barely form words to answer Hermione as she wished them luck. This was the final test – what would partly decide his future, really. If he failed, he would return to life as a slave – or perhaps be executed on the spot. Harry didn't know which. Any normal person would be anxious.

Under the piercing stares of royal guards, Harry and Draco entered the hall through the large, intimidating, and heavy doors. Harry couldn't recognize any of the members of the royal guard as the ones that arrested him, but his nervousness under their gazes increased nonetheless – as well as a defiant spark.

Lady and Lord Malfoy were sitting formally and silently at the table draped with white cloth. Lady Malfoy smiled when she saw her son and Harry, but the gaze Lord Malfoy turned on him was cold.

The hatred was instant. The mushy ice that was in the pit of his stomach began to boil as he remembered the years of poverty, suffering, and precisely why he had no parents. However – regardless of how he truly felt – he also had to remember that he wasn't an angry slave like he was the night that seemed oh so long ago, but a princess from a foreign country that depended on the Lord's fondness. The detestation that had manifested was put in check. He carefully kept the shadow of revulsion from his facial expression. Harry would be damned if he let the loathing consume him and ruin his chances of receiving the crucial blessing.

It didn't help that Harry's nerves were already racked. On the way to the Dining Hall, Hermione, Draco, and he had been intercepted by none other than Pansy and two of her servants. At first, Harry expected nothing but a slightly uncomfortable greeting between the two parties (everyone knew that Draco had stretched as far as he could just to make sure that Pansy wasn't invited to breakfast.) But Pansy wasn't satisfied with a passing, 'Good morning.'

"Ah – it's your blushing bride," she said to Draco, openly eyeing Harry with disgust, who glanced away quickly.

"Wouldn't you rather be somewhere else – haunting some hallway, or perhaps having breakfast with your slaves in your chambers?"

"I'm happy to see you also, Draco," she said rather stiffly.

"I never said I was happy to see such hideous features – and so early in the morning, too."

Her face flamed and she didn't seem able to say anything for a moment.

"Come on," Draco said to Hermione and Harry in his trademark bored tone. "We don't want to be late."

Harry and Hermione began to follow him, but Pansy suddenly (and rather stupidly) shouted out, "And I suppose that whore of yours is better!" She was, of course, referring to Harry.

Draco rounded on her. "She is not by any circumstances a whore, and even if she was a whore I can assure you that yes, she is by far better. Anyone and anything would be better than a dog like you, Parkinson, by the Gods; and I swear I would prefer a common animal to you."

Even Hermione, Harry, and her two servants grimaced. Pansy was stunned into silence and couldn't even form a thought until Draco, Hermione, and Harry had gotten a good deal away. It was then that she yelled:

"Common whores like that foreigner should be put to death! If I were Lady Malfoy, I would have her executed on the spot!"

"Ignore her," Hermione murmured to both of them. "She can't attack Draco, so she's simply turned her anger to you, Harry."

"Yeah, thanks – I noticed," he muttered back and glanced over his shoulder at Pansy, standing in the center of the hall and trembling in anger (though he could only see a broad outline since he was, once again, deprived of his glasses.)

He quickly pushed the menacing threat to the back of his mind, however, as Draco formally greeted his parents:

"Mother," he bowed to Lady Malfoy, who nodded with a smile. He turned to his father and nodded stiffly, saying, "Lucius." His father didn't return the greeting. It seemed that what had last happened on the annual hunt was still fresh on their minds.

Husband and wife were seated at the opposite ends of the very long table. Draco led Harry to the center of the table, pulled out a chair for him, pushed it back in once he was seated, and sat down beside him.

The polite conversation didn't extend to Lord Malfoy, who seemed bored with the entire affair and even rolled his eyes when Lady Malfoy complimented Harry on his dress. Lord Malfoy and Draco refused to speak more than was deemed necessary, of course; so the pleasant conversation was mostly conducted by the Lady.

"And you, Miss? How are you this morning?"

"Quite fine, thank you," Harry said – in his high voice, of course. He tried his hardest not to squint through the haze created by his awkward eyes. "And you?"

"Perfect. I have been looking forward to speaking to you again. Gods know, I was quite disappointed when you became ill and couldn't join Draco and me."

"I was disappointed as well, but I'm happy I can be part of your party now."

"It seems you haven't gotten over your illness," Lord said suddenly. "Your voice is horrible."

"Honey, that's her normal tone."

He sneered. "Hideous. It doesn't match you at all. You should be thankful you have a pretty face, at least – though you're too tall and not curvy enough. I suppose your seamstress tried to hide that by giving you a dress that covers all of your body except for your face; even your hands are covered by gloves."

"Ah – yes, well – "

"And I would prefer to have my son marry a healthy woman, not one that falls ill at the drop of a coin."

Draco cleared his throat. "Surely one moment of sickness – "

"It's all right, Draco," Lady interrupted. "I believe your young love's other qualities redeem her negative sides. She has intelligence as well as beauty, for example; most girls are either intelligent and unsightly or brainless and appealing. Still, your father has a point."

Draco was about to answer back but stopped when he realized that his mother was only flexing her fingers in preparation.

The servants brought in the tea, cream, and sugar. There was a moment of oddity when a servant placed a tea cup with sugar sprinkled on the bottom of the cup in front of Harry but then suddenly picked it up and put it in front of Draco instead. The conversation stilled as drinks were poured and quietly savored, though Harry left his alone. He wasn't much in the mood for tea.

Finally, Lord Malfoy continued his questioning:

"Your land," he gestured at Harry, who glanced up. "Just how powerful is it?"

Harry smiled as he answered what he had repeatedly practiced with Hermione previously: "My land is the fruit of the Gods; they first created our plentiful land with flourish and made it the roots, which all other lands are stems of. But we have had to seclude ourselves more and more as people wander towards the precious land that we chosen ones must protect."

"Is that so?"

Harry nodded with a smile.

"And I suppose you think that marrying Draco and binding our provinces will help you protect your lands?"

He, once again, nodded with a smile, and added, "The Land of the Gods must be protected. We have been blessed with rich and healthy soil, plentiful harvest, and fresh rivers, but many of our beautiful people must be sacrificed to work in the temples and cannot work as soldiers for protection."

"I hate religion," Lord Malfoy said simply.

"There is and isn't a time for it," Lady Malfoy said agreeably. "Oh, but haven't you taken a liking to your tea?" she asked Harry. "You haven't touched it yet."

Harry unsurely raised the mug to his lips and took a slow slip. It was sour, almost – not sweet like he expected it to be – with a hint of lime and… something else he couldn't quite place.

"It's pleasant," he smiled, lying through his teeth, and quickly put it back down in front of him.

"The Lady mentioned you know something of politics."

He nodded and smiled at Lord Malfoy.

"How about enemies? I suppose you wouldn't know much about adversaries and rivals if your land is as well hidden as you say it is."

"Oh – well, I – "

"Ladies deal with agreements and treaties. If you can't deal with rivals, then how are you going to deal with comprises?"

"Erm – I – "

"There's also the fact that Ladies must comfort their husbands as they deal with traitors and opposition, and pests such as spies and espionage," Lord Malfoy continued.

Harry froze and couldn't quite say anything in reply.

"I'm sure I could counsel her," Lady Malfoy suggested. "That shouldn't be too hard. She's very intelligent, after all. Though, of course, she can't rival your intelligence."

Lord Malfoy stared at Harry fiercely, who wanted to return the gaze but remembered Hermione's warning: to stay subservient. His eyes fell to the brownish tea in his mug.

"This rubbish about being in love," Lord Malfoy said after a moment, his gaze turning from Harry and onto Draco. "It's obviously an act. Why pull it?"

"Act?" Draco appeared confused. "I don't understand. I love this woman with all of my heart."

"And you? I suppose you'll claim to love my son as well?"

Harry nodded and smiled, though he was starting to get a slight headache from smiling so much. "Very much so. Even in my own land I have never found someone as remarkable as your son, Lord Malfoy."

"Which is understandable. I think they make a rather lovely couple," Lady Malfoy said to her husband. "Why, Miss, you've suddenly become rather pale. Are you all right?"

Harry glanced about. "Oh, yes, I'm fine!" But even Draco started to seem slightly concerned.

"Here," Draco moved the mug closer to him. "Drink more tea. You must have the morning chills."

Harry obeyed, though he didn't feel like drinking anymore of the tea. His stomach began to hurt, and he didn't want to put anything else in it. He inwardly groaned at the thought of forcing down food when it arrived. He could already hear Lord Malfoy's remark about him being ill _again_.

"I will be frank," Lord Malfoy said to Harry, who glanced up from his mug and tried not to seem too anxious under his scrutinizing gaze. "I think that you're a spy."

Harry's heart skipped a few beats. He couldn't answer. His eyes began to water and he blinked rapidly. A lump formed in his throat and the feeling of being cold even though his body knew he was, in actuality, particularly hot washed over him.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Lady Malfoy said with a gentle smile. "Don't worry, Miss; my husband is well known for his paranoia."

"For my caution, not paranoia," the eyes on Harry narrowed. "Why shouldn't I believe that this woman is a dangerous spy that has taken advantage of my son?"

"Because Nettle has already been under great investigation," Lady Malfoy answered calmly. "And not a trace of treachery was found. Remember?"

"Sure, but…"

"Honestly, I would like to enjoy a nice breakfast with you, my son, and his wife-to-be," Lady Malfoy smiled. "Not blindly accuse her of being a spy."

It was only here that Harry was able to breathe – though his tight breaths were accompanied with an almost audible wheeze.

The plates of food were placed in front of them. Eggs, bacon, ham, bread, fruit salad, soup, sticky white rice, fish – it was the largest variety of food Harry had ever seen set on one table. His stomach cramped and he felt the heat worsen. He didn't want to, but he knew he would look impolite and out of place if he didn't touch the food; so he helped himself to a small serving of eggs and fruit.

It was in the middle of eating his eggs that he really started to feel queasy. Bile rose in his throat. He would've blamed it on the nerves that were still racking his system – especially at the accusations – but it was such a violent attack of nausea…

As he concentrated on not throwing up, Lady Malfoy was politely complimenting Lord Malfoy, still working him up and buttering him up and readying him for her manipulation. Only Draco noticed that Harry suddenly became still.

"What's wrong?" Draco whispered.

A dizzy spell assaulted Harry before he could reply. The breakfast was interrupted as Harry slid out of his seat and hit the floor with a light thud.

AN: We're getting closer and closer to what everyone's been begging me to hurry up with. I think that the feelings are getting a bit more obvious now. I thank everyone for the reviews and support. Opinions are equally as important to me. I like to know what I'm doing wrong and right with the story.


	11. chapter eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

While Harry slept, he dreamed about being back at headquarters with his friends, his family, and imagined running through the forest and around town as a child with Ron and the twins; he even dreamed about his walks with Ginny, and his crush on Tonks and a girl that lived in the village, Cho Chang. He was with Molly, Arthur, Remus, and even at one point, his imagination brought him his father, his mother, and Sirius based on what others told him about the three.

So I can't quite say that Harry was happy that he was roused from his sleep at a loud snap. He was definitely confused, and it took a moment for him to realize that he wasn't in the stuffy and hard bed he shared with Ron back at headquarters. Rather, he was in a large one with white sheets that was as comfortable as a bed made for a king. Finally, his mind allowed him to remember that he wasn't at headquarters at all, but rather in the Malfoy Castle.

But even then, the bed he was in was neither his nor Draco's. The room he was in was white, spaced out, and foggy. With a groan, he stretched his tired arm to the place he was used to finding a nightstand, which was usually where his glasses were settled, but he didn't find one.

There was another snap.

He tried to sit up, but stopped when he heard Draco Malfoy say, "Awake already?"

"Where are my glasses?" is what he would've asked, but all he could form was a low groan. Before he could clear his throat, he heard Draco continue, "Hermione said you would probably be asleep for another day – two, at the most."

The voice grew louder as the shape grew closer. He could make out the outline of Draco easily. Harry cleared his throat again and asked hoarsely, "Where're my glasses?"

"Oh, one second," there was the sound of some shuffling and the cool glasses were slipped onto Harry's face. Everything became clear and came into focus, and Draco was no longer a blur of colors. The icy eyes were fixed intently on Harry's.

He broke the shared gaze by looking around the room. "Where am I?"

"The infirmary," Draco sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. "You were poisoned, apparently."

"Poisoned?" Harry's squinted up at Draco. "When? How?"

"Your tea. We don't know who did it yet, but when I find out…"

Harry's eyebrows furrowed slightly. Someone tried to kill him. Why? The only reason his mind could suggest was that someone was very angry at him. His eyes implored him to get some more rest.

"Hermione was here earlier, but she had some files to write up – or something like that," Draco murmured.

"Why are you here?"

He blanked for a moment before answering, "Well, I have to pretend to care, don't I? I'm your husband-to-be, after all." He cleared his throat and shifted slightly. "But – the good news is that my mother used your poisoning and managed to convince Lucius to give his blessings."

This was the most confusing of all. Harry gave Draco an odd look, so Draco explained, "She managed to make it seem that someone attempted to take your life as an assassination attempt. There has to be a very good reason someone wants you dead. She made Lucius think that whoever wants you dead doesn't want us married because the two lands together would become unbeatable. The fool believed her."

"I'm glad my near death was profitable," Harry said bitterly.

"Oh, get over it," Draco smirked. "You weren't anywhere near death. That's what Hermione said, anyway. She was your personal doctor, you know – a precaution. We don't want any nurses finding out that you've got a few extra parts in the wrong places." His eyes wandered from Harry's and down the bed sheets. "You were poisoned, but it was a minor poisoning, according to her. She thinks that the person who did it made a mistake and put too little into the cup, and the leaves that they got the poison from wasn't crushed into a fine enough powder to give the full effect. You'll scrape by with some headaches and a hoarse throat – maybe some vomiting – at the most."

"That must be a relief for you," Harry said. His tone was supposed to be sour and slightly annoyed, but it only came out as tired.

"But of course," Draco smirked, but the smirk started to fade away and was replaced by an almost gentle and concerned expression – if a Malfoy was ever capable of such a thing. "You should get some more rest," he suggested almost kindly and reached for Harry's glasses. He folded them and got off of the bed.

"Hermione let you stay here?" Harry murmured after a moment.

"Hm?"

"She let you be here even though she thinks you're trying to…" he trailed off sleepily.

"Harry, even I wouldn't stoop so low as to harass a sick boy."

" 'M not a boy," Harry rolled over and promptly fell back into such a deep sleep that he dreamed that he was sleeping under a tree.

When Harry next woke up, it was to scratchy noises that were irritating his eardrums. He had an awful taste in his mouth and his head was pounding, but his throat didn't feel as raw as it had earlier. He rolled over. The scratching stopped.

"Glad to see you awake again," Draco's voice wandered over.

"He's awake?" Hermione came forward and helped Harry sit up, gave him a sip of water from a glass that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and gave him his glasses, which he slipped on gratefully and looked around the castle infirmary.

Draco was sitting at a nearby desk with the journal in front of him. He watched Harry as he absorbed his surroundings.

"How do you feel?"

"Like someone took a bludgeon and hit me over the head. But, other than that…"

"Draco says that you've been sleeping rather calmly."

"I suppose."

Hermione fretted with feeling Harry's neck and forehead to see if there was a rise in temperature, made sure he drank more water, and when Draco tried to start speaking about the poisoning and who might've done it and why, Hermione interrupted him:

"What Harry needs is fresh air to clear his mind; not a stressful conversation."

"I wouldn't mind that," Harry said instantly. He really did need to get out of the room. He suddenly felt like the walls were closing in on him, and Hermione was right: his mind wouldn't be able to handle such a topic of conversation.

"So – what – do you want me to get one of the dresses…?"

"Can't I just go out as a slave?" Harry muttered and tried to push himself out of bed; suddenly, a wave of nausea and a violent pounding in his eardrums forced him back down onto the bed. He used a lot of energy as he tried to get up a second time, but again he failed.

"You'll be weak for a while," Hermione said when she noticed his efforts. "You might need to depend on Draco for a bit."

"Sorry?"

"She stuck me on you," Draco explained bitterly.

"You were perfectly happy to help earlier," Hermione sniffed. "Almost eager, in fact."

Draco's pale face blushed slightly. "So I have to take him wherever he wants to go?"

"I suggest the lake," Hermione glanced out of the window. "It's almost sunset, and no one is there at this time."

Harry frowned slightly. The conversation was moving a bit too fast for his taste; he couldn't keep up at all. "Wait, hold on – Draco is taking me to a lake?"

"If you want to go," Hermione nodded. "Here, I'll get you a top; it might be slightly chilly out, but that'll be good. You'll clear your head faster than if it was humid."

Harry had barely noticed that he only wore shorts. Hermione helped him fit the top over his head and put his arms through the appropriate holes.

Draco didn't seem unbearably excited at the thought of leading a slave to the lake. "What happens if someone sees us?"

"Is there anything wrong with a noble royal sitting by the lake and having a personal slave attend to him?"

"Well – no, I suppose not…"

"Then help him up."

Draco heaved an annoyed sigh, shut his journal, and made himself go to the side of the bed. He put out his hand, which Harry barely touched with the slightest of hesitation.

"Hold onto it," Draco said, a touch bothered.

Harry gripped it more tightly. He was helped out of the bed, and when he stumbled slightly, Draco nearly fell underneath the weight.

"Gods, what the hell do you eat?" Draco huffed and threw Harry's arm over his shoulders. "You're heavy!"

"I'm not that heavy," Harry said, slightly defensively. "If anything, you're just weak."

Draco scowled and muttered something incomprehensible.

Hermione watched as they struggled to the door, glanced around to make sure no one was near by, and watched them leave, Harry waving good-bye.

They didn't encounter any problems in the hallways, other than Harry's complaints that the stone underneath his bare feet were cold. At one point, they heard heated voices arguing, but they quickly vanished and left nothing but echoes in Harry and Draco's wake.

Eventually, Draco was able to half-drag Harry down the many flights of stairs to the ground level. They moved through the courtyard; it was empty because the slaves were either doing their shifts inside of the castle or were in their nearby cabins. By the time they got across the stones and into the private gardens, night had fallen. Both boys were puffing and sweating, Draco cursing all the way.

They made it to 'the lake', which wasn't really a lake at all but a large pond. The flowers smelled sweet, and a gentle wind breezed through Harry's ruffled hair. Draco helped him onto a large rock and sat down beside him, his legs craving the rest.

"You know, you should probably enjoy your time out," Draco said after a moment, which was met with confusion on Harry's part. "After Lucius agreed to give us his blessings, he decided that he doesn't – well, he doesn't want there to be another assassination attempt."

A dull ache came in between Harry's eyes. "So?"

"He wants you to be confined to your tower. My mother agrees. And… well, so do Hermione and I."

Harry knew he should feel angry, but he was too tired. "I never left it that much anyway."

"You can't go anywhere," Draco repeated. "Not even for dinner, or breakfast… until our marriage, you have to stay in the tower."

"So I'm some kind of hostage?"

"What're you talking about?" Draco rose an eyebrow. "We're trying to protect you."

"From who?"

"We don't know yet," Draco shook his head. "And as for why… Hermione thinks that someone might've taken you too seriously and really doesn't want the two lands bonded together… Or maybe it was just a very unfunny practical joke."

Harry could hardly even digest what had happened. It seemed so unreal, like he was watching someone else recover from a poisoning; like someone really hadn't just tried to kill him.

"No one but me, Hermione, Lucius, and my mother know," Draco continued. "And you, of course."

"Blaise doesn't?"

"No. We don't want the peasants finding out, and he has a pretty big mouth."

"When you say peasants, you mean the villagers."

"Same thing."

That meant the rumors wouldn't spread in the village, which meant that there was no way Ron or Remus or anyone else could find out. He would have to tell the Order about the assassination attempt when someone returned to receive more information. Unfortunately, it would be hard for them to reach him since he would be stuck in his tower. But suddenly, he was too tired to think about all of that. He simply wanted to relax.

Draco shook his head. "I don't think that someone wanted to kill you to keep the two lands separate – "

"Draco, if you don't mind, I think I want to talk about something else. Or else just enjoy the quiet."

"Well, I can't stand absolute silence right now, so let's talk. About what?"

Harry shrugged and stared at the garden. There were large fish swimming in the lake, their scales glittering in the moonlight, and stones made a path in the water to what looked like a floating island where a single tree stood tall. Pink flowers graced the clear water after floating away from the tree's branches. It was the type of place that Ginny and Tonks would love – and also the type of place that the twins and Ron would gag at. Normally, Harry would want to gag along with them… but they weren't with him. Instead, he was with Draco.

The night was calming somewhat, and Hermione was right about the chilly breeze: Harry felt like his mind was becoming fresher and fresher by the second.

"Draco?"

"Hm?"

"I've been wondering… Why don't you want to be Lord Malfoy? Why would you create this huge plan, just so that you can't succeed your father?"

Draco seemed thoughtful for a moment and shifted on the rock. "Why would I want to be?"

"Well, you get power over the province – "

"So? That power wouldn't mean anything," Draco sighed. "Getting power like my father wants is just a futile attempt of making yourself immortal. People only want power so that they can become legends and so that their name will live on after they die."

"Did Hermione teach you that?"

"No," he smirked. "I thought of that all on my own. And besides that, it must be a boring and dull life to be constantly making laws and killing and creating wars with other provinces."

"Some might see that as exciting."

"Well those people and I obviously disagree."

There was a small silence before Draco asked:

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you have some sort of responsibility that you want to blow off?"

"Of course. I have to be your wife."

"Hey, being my wife can't be that bad." He ignored Harry's snort. "Isn't there anything else?"

Harry bit his bottom lip in thought. "Well, yeah… I mean, I have to do a lot of things that I don't want to do – like washing the dishes or walking half way across the province to buy bread. But I have to do it anyway, you know? I have no choice. But – er," Harry glanced at the rippling water, "there's this huge responsibility of mine that I might actually end up ignoring. I mean," he said nervously and cautiously, "I want to. I have to do it, but I don't want to, though I should want to do it."

"Did that make sense in your head?"

"Not really," Harry grinned sheepishly.

"I think I might know what you're saying, though," Draco shrugged. "People would think I'm crazy to not want to be Lord of the Malfoy province. If they knew about my plan, anyway."

"What does Blaise think?"

"Why are you asking about him?"

"Well, I'm just thinking about how I haven't seen him in a while."

"Blaise…" Draco sighed. "I haven't seen him for a while either."

"Where is he?"

"In the Harems," Draco shrugged.

"_Still_?"

"Yeah. I asked him not to come out unless he was – er – needed again."

"Oh," Harry blushed slightly and looked away. He couldn't quite say that he was disappointed that Blaise was back in the Harems.

"What're you going to do if your plan works?"

Draco actually smiled. "I'm going to move away, dress up in disguise so that no one will recognize me as a Malfoy, and become a book analyst."

Harry snorted; chuckled; coughed to try to hide his guffaw; and finally, double up laughing. And once he started, he couldn't stop.

"What's so funny?" Draco demanded, but was only met with the laughs. He hit Harry's arm – and none too gently, mind you. Harry threw his hands up in defense and a yell of pain and protest.

"I just didn't expect you to say that!" Harry grinned. "That's all. I thought you would – I don't know – buy every mansion in the world or something."

Draco rolled his eyes. "No. I'm going to analyze books, which isn't really very funny at all. It's a serious and worthy business." When Harry continued laughing, he narrowed his eyes and demanded, "And what will you do after we get married?"

At this, Harry's smile disappeared. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On whether you set me free or have me executed."

Draco's face instantly changed from angry and became grim; he seemed like he suddenly couldn't meet Harry's eye. "Why would I – ?"

"Oh, don't even pretend," Harry glared. "You're going to have me executed. Right?"

Draco sighed and gazed at the floating island. "I don't know."

"You don't know!"

Harry tried to stand up, but he was still too weak. "This is my _life _we're talking about!"

"Calm down!" Draco insisted; he grabbed him and forced him back down. "Don't overexert yourself or Hermione will have my head – "

"And you don't care at all! I'm just a bloody pawn to you that needs to be taken care of or I'll be useless – "

"According to who?" Draco glared and held him still. "Where the hell do you pull these ideas out of?"

Harry, perplexed, quickly said, "Then why won't you deny that you're going to have me executed?"

"What am I supposed to do, Harry? I can't divorce you. Surely you don't want to spend the rest of your life with a book analyst – "

"_Set me free_. Say I ran away, disappeared, I don't know – "

"It's not as easy as that."

"Yes it is!"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes. Really."

"Fine."

A few seconds passed before Harry echoed, "Fine?"

"Yes. Fine. I'll let you go. I'll say that you ran away."

"You actually think I'll trust you?"

"Well you have no choice, do you?" Draco watched Harry spitefully.

Harry stared at Draco distrustfully and angrily.

Draco sighed. "I said I would let you go, right? Didn't I?"

"But you won't!"

"I said I will! I'm going to! Gods, Harry, just trust me and let it go."

"How can you expect me to let something like this go?"

Harry turned his intense glare to the tree. As if he would trust a Malfoy with his life.

Minutes of heated silence passed. Harry, fuming, sent glares at Draco, who sighed in exasperation and chose to ignore them. Harry hated having no choice but to believe Draco. And really, a part of him desperately wanted to believe him. What else could he do? Draco's word was his only hope for survival.

Hermione seemed to think that he would let Harry go. Blaise's echoes of his suspicion that Draco would betray Harry seemed so far away. Blaise never did like Harry; he probably said that to upset him. Harry suddenly remembered what Draco wrote in his last journal entry: about how Blaise was like a hungry tiger. Harry's mistrust for Blaise doubled in that instant, thus making his trust in Draco…

It grew, but not by very much, Harry thought to himself. By a centimeter's worth, maybe. Not by a lot. And that still didn't mean that he really believed Draco when he said he'd set Harry free.

"You said," Draco eventually started, "that you were arrested because you were falsely accused of being a thief?"

"Yes."

Draco glanced at him. "I'll – have the real thief found after we're married. I'll have your name cleared."

Harry was surprised into silence for a moment. "Thank you."

Draco nodded. "I really will let you go, you know. I know you don't trust me because I have tyrant blood – "

Harry shook his head. "It's okay, Draco. Really. I have no choice but to trust you."

A small smile flitted across his face. "And you know, you'll have to be careful. Some of the other – villagers – well, they might recognize you if you're not careful."

"I'll be careful. Plus, I'll be wearing my glasses."

"Good."

The silence was almost enjoyable.

"Tell me, Harry," Draco gazed at the floating islands and watched the petals lazily drift through the air, "what kind of people are you attracted to?"

"Pardon me?"

"What kind of – "

"I heard what you said."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I just don't think that's any of your business, that's all."

"It's not such a difficult question to answer," Draco smirked. "Unless you really are the blushing bride that Parkinson thinks you are."

"Well, if you must know," Harry muttered, blushing slightly, "I like – er – quiet girls, I suppose." Even though Tonks and Ginny were anything but quiet. "And pretty. They have to be pretty."

"Girls?"

"Yes, girls."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing. I just assumed you preferred men."

"_What_?"

Draco glanced over with a raised eyebrow and repeated, "I assumed you – "

"Why?" Harry asked, flustered.

"Well, you were so willing to wear the dresses that I just assumed – "

"It's not like I had a bloody choice!"

"Why are you getting so defensive?" Draco asked defensively. "It's not a bad thing to like other men."

"I never said it was."

"Then why are you getting so upset?"

"I'm not upset! I just don't – well, I don't like being with guys."

"How do you know if you've never tried?"

Harry, muddled, quickly shut his mouth and decided not to answer.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well, I'll tell you my preferences just to show you that it's not such a big deal: the girls have to be basically the opposite of Parkinson – and they can't be too clingy. And they have to be easy and willing, of course – I detest the, 'Oh, but I'm a virgin!' nonsense. They also have to be curvy. As for the men, well," Draco smirked. "I like them a bit darker, I suppose. Not too clean-cut, either." He glanced over Harry. "Nicely built, and with lighter colored eyes – like blue, or, say, green – "

"Lay off," Harry muttered, blushing. He pushed himself farther away from Draco on the rock to emphasize his point. Maybe Hermione had a good reason to be so worried after all.

Draco shrugged. "I'm only speaking the truth."

"Well, I never really asked to hear about what kind of people you're attracted to anyway."

"I don't care if you asked or not. I wanted to tell you, so I did. I usually do and take what I want, when I want to, and I don't need to have a reason for why," he gazed lazily at Harry.

He couldn't meet Draco's gaze, but Draco knew that his point had been made and that Harry understood what he was implying. Draco carefully searched Harry's face, but didn't say anymore and went back to watching the petals drift idly. When it came time to leave, Harry insisted on walking on his own without using Draco as a crutch.

AN: Thank you all so much for all of the reviews! You guys are great.

I'm really sorry. I forgot to answer a question in the last update. I honestly wasn't ignoring anyone; I just have a horrible memory. The question is what the foreign princess's name is, and the answer is that I didn't give "her" one. I was trying to make the point that the foreign princess is so fake that she doesn't even have a name; giving her one would put her at the same level as all of the other characters, you know?

I hope you I answered the question and that you all liked this chapter! Tell me what you thought!


	12. chapter twelve

CHAPTER TWELVE

As if this story couldn't get any crazier or more complex, there is yet another character to introduce: a woman of peculiar nature, she's hidden away in a tower far away from all of the other towers of the castle… and civilization, for that matter. Because she's the outcast of the castle, people easily forget about her – that is, until she surfaces.

Oh, all hell doesn't break loose whenever she surfaces. The only thing that breaks loose, really, is the door in the floor of the tower. She'll climb down her ladder, veil her face completely with her colorful scarf, and shuffle through the cold halls and down the many stairs until she comes to Lucius Malfoy's room. Without knocking, she'll enter and declare in a feeble voice what will happen in the near future or far future, depending on what she deems important to be told.

Because that was her job: to tell the future. All day, all night, she would bend over her crystal ball in the dark of her tower and only open the shutters at night so that she could read the stars. She belonged to the Malfoy castle, as her mother did, and her mother's mother, and as her daughter would. No one quite knew how the daughters were born because no one had ever seen a man enter through the floor; and yet every generation, there was another personal prophet of the Lord Malfoy. However, sometimes these women barely left their towers. Indeed, hundreds of years ago there was even a woman who didn't emerge at all. (Of course, a curious guard later found her corpse in a corner of the tower, but that isn't the point.)

Now, this particular female prophet is indeed another character introduced in this story, but I assure you that her role (though of great value) doesn't appear very often; in fact, as far as I can see, she only appears once in this story.

As is custom, her vault door broke open, shaking dust loose from it so that it fell to the cold, stone floor below. It whined as she opened it and warily climbed down the ladder. Dressed in colorful rags, her face hidden, she cursed and rambled on through the halls. Servants froze in shock when they saw her; some hid, afraid of her; others ran in the other direction to other servants to spread the news that the woman had emerged from her tower. Even some royals were so shocked that they lost their supposed-to-be perfect composure.

She ignored all of them, of course, and went on her way to Lucius Malfoy's room. When she finally arrived, she barged in and didn't even blink when she realized that she had interrupted an obviously exceedingly important meeting involving the Lady, Lord, and five other Lords from other provinces.

Lord Malfoy stood up from his desks. The other Lords spun around in their seats.

"Leave!" Lord Malfoy said to the other Lords, and they all stood up immediately and left the Lord and Lady Malfoy and the woman alone in the room.

The woman didn't address any of them and looked only at Lord Malfoy. There was a dramatic pause before she said her eagerly awaited prophecy: "The foreign princess," she began, "is about to be the victim of an assassination attempt by a person whose aura is composed of enraged jealousy."

A heavy silence filled the room.

"That's the prophecy?" the Lord Malfoy demanded.

"Yes, Lord Malfoy."

"How is that a prophecy?" Lord Malfoy asked. "It's already happened!"

"I have said what has needed to be said," she replied mystically.

"GET OUT!" Lord Malfoy hollered in disgust. She sniffed, murmured something that vaguely sounded like, "Mere mortals," and took her time abiding.

But, contrary to what Lord Malfoy thought, the woman's information wasn't completely useless: because now they knew more about the person that had tried to murder the foreign princess. In the moments after the female prophet left, Lady Malfoy instantly sent for Draco and passed on the information to her son, who immediately said:

"But of course it's Parkinson!"

And it made sense. She always hated Harry, after all, and wanted Draco to herself. She even declared that she wanted Harry dead the very morning he was poisoned. But when members of the royal guards marched to her chambers, they found that only her servants remained. When interrogated, her servants said that she had all but fled that morning to her native lands. They were left to gather all of her things and take them back to the castle.

"You believe it was her, don't you?" Draco asked Hermione later that evening.

Hermione glanced away from the encyclopedia in front of her. "I don't know, but you promised me that you would concentrate on your work tonight."

"Tell me what you think," he commanded.

She complied half-heartedly and with a little sigh: "I honestly can't say that I think it was her."

But, obviously, Hermione's timid opinion on the matter didn't make any difference. The next morning, an entire troop of the royal guard left the Malfoy province and returned later that night with Pansy bound in chains. She was thrown into the dungeons where she would remain until her sentencing, though the guards didn't want to wait; they wanted to throttle her right then and there because her screams and pleas were driving them insane. "I don't even know what I've been accused of!" she would say shrilly before giving way to sobs.

Draco, frankly, was rather pleased. He never liked Parkinson, after all, and he wanted her to pay for trying to kill Harry.

_I never did like watching executions,_ he thought to himself, _but if she's sentenced to death, then I can afford watch this one_.

Moments after Parkinson was thrown into the dungeons, the servants and slaves weren't the only ones rushing to their companions to spread the news. No one besides the Malfoy family, Hermione, and Harry knew exactly why Parkinson was imprisoned, so rumors of betrayal, love affairs, and pregnancy reached the ears of the commoners.

Draco arrived in Harry's chambers in near glee.

"It was Parkinson?" Harry echoed, surprise etching his tone.

"Yes, of course it was. She never did like you." Draco was disappointed that his excitement wasn't being shared.

"Yeah, but," Harry frowned. "She never seemed like the type to… well… I never thought she would try to kill me."

"You don't know her," Draco sat down on Harry's bed. "She's a selfish hog. She'll do anything to get her way."

Harry didn't seem completely convinced, but he had no choice but to accept what Draco was telling him. It seemed he had been forced into doing a lot of that lately.

They spoke for a little while about nothings in general – Harry trying his hardest to avoid all subject of what had been said at the lake (for some reason, he was embarrassed at the very thought.)

It took Draco a while to leave, and after he did Harry sat in heavy thought. Suddenly, he stood up and stripped off the dress he was to wear it at all times, even when he was in his tower. He was supposed to wear it all of the time now because servants were to bring him food in the morning, afternoon, and evening. They couldn't risk him lounging around as a man when a servant could pop in at any time. This annoyed him, but he never showed his frustration to the servants; in fact, they would often speak happily for a good few minutes: sometimes about the weather, sometimes about the politics outside of the castle. One time, the conversation Harry was holding with a servant went on so long that he had to invite the girl into the room so that she could properly talk to him. She was the daughter of the Fat Lady at the bread stand, Harry realized when she first started speaking, and he wanted to know how her mother and the other villagers were doing. (Of course, he had to ask indirectly so that he wouldn't seem too suspicious.)

Regardless, being confined to his tower had nearly driven him insane, and it didn't help that everyone – including Hermione – agreed that that's the way it should stay.

"It's for your own safety," Hermione told him gently when he complained to her.

"Oh, stop whining," Draco rolled his eyes when Harry turned to him.

But now, Harry decided to do something about being confined in the tower himself. He dressed into his slave clothes and took out a needle Hermione had brought for him. He'd told her that he should have some more feminine traces of hobbies, such as knitting, so that the servants wouldn't begin to question his supposed womanly qualities. The needle was pushed into the hole in the doorknob. He twisted it, pushed it, pulled it, and, biting his tongue in concentration, managed to get the doorknob to 'click' unlocked.

"Thank you, Fred and George," he murmured.

Now that he was free, where would he go?

He closed the door, carefully making sure that it was still unlocked so that he could slip back into the room later, and ambled down the stairs. It was half-way down that he realized he still had his wig on, so he had to run back up and toss it into the chamber. He walked around the corridors for a while, drifting aimlessly, simply enjoying walls that weren't the ones he stared at day in, day out.

It was at about the time he decided that he wanted a midnight snack from the kitchens that his tower door caught fire. An oil lamp had lit it, and it stayed at the foot of the door, used and abandoned to the flames.

Harry was helping himself to fresh fruit. He was trying to shadow his face away from three other servants, all of them talking about that one slave who was working in the kitchens but disappeared a while ago – yeah, the one who spilled a drink into Lord Draco's lap. Maybe he ran away? Perhaps he was kidnapped? Surely he wasn't killed. That was when they heard the panicked screams and yells. He and the three servants left the kitchen and ran up the halls to see what was going on. The smell of smoke was thick and strong. He started to cough and his eyes began to water.

"The foreign princess's bedroom is on fire!" some of the servants were yelling. Black smoke was billowing out of the staircase. Harry helplessly stood in shock as servants and slaves ran back and forth, grabbing pails of water.

With the adjoined efforts, they were able to prevent the fire from spreading, but the room and the staircase was completely destroyed. The remains of the bed was twisted, the dresses were ashes of pretty fabric, the golden candle holders had begun to melt, and the wig was completely destroyed.

"The princess's body isn't here," a servant declared, and the crowd that had gathered cheered; the Fat Lady's daughter, who was crying as servants searched through the rubble, began to sob all the harder in relief. Harry flushed and pointedly kept his eyes to the ground as he backed away from the group.

"What is this confusion?" Lady Malfoy demanded. She had strutted up the halls, a smaller servant tailing her.

The servants' cheers vanished and they timidly explained what happened, all of them noting again and again that the foreign princess wasn't there. The Lady started to peer into the crowd as if searching for the very person who might've caused the fire. It was only then that Harry realized that he should immediately go to Draco's rooms. It was easy for him to slip through the massive crowd of servants and slaves that were scattered throughout the halls. He ran up the stairs to Draco's doors and pounded on them.

Moments later, Draco, utterly bothered, opened the doors; when he saw Harry's face the annoyance softened.

"What're you doing out – do I smell smoke?"

"Someone burned down my tower," Harry said breathlessly as he was let into the room. When he actually said it the full reality of this statement hit him. Someone burned down the tower – assuming that Harry was inside of it.

Draco froze for a moment before he said, "Stay here. Better yet, get into my bed. Hide under the covers. Don't let anyone in." And with that, he quickly and carelessly dressed and left immediately, locking the door behind him. Harry nervously looked around the room to make sure that he was alone before he climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over him.

Draco all but ran to the scene. He demanded to know what had happened in greater detail, but he couldn't be given any more information than his mother had been given. Traces of the oil lamp outside of the door suggested that someone purposely lit the tower on fire. The foreign princess was nearly assassinated, and this time the Malfoy's couldn't keep it a secret.

It seemed that the woman's earlier prophecy had come true after all. But how – or rather, who – since Pansy was still locked in the dungeons?

Frankly, I really was never very good at telling mysteries, and I think it's safe to say that it's almost obvious that Pansy did not do the deed; it was, of course, Blaise Zabini.

Now, this is our little secret: yours and mine, but no one else's. Truthfully, all three of the Malfoy's were fully convinced that Pansy had tried to kill Harry – even Lady Malfoy, who was a close friend of the girl's. Really, only Hermione and Harry were unsure until this point.

No one had even thought to question the Harem Ladies, far below and never seen by anyone unless hunted for, and their servants (why would they?); but if they had, at least one of them would have said that Blaise had been acting strangely.

He was always sneaking out and was more moody than usual, that was for sure. He had been ordered to help the Harem Ladies, yet he only took up space.

Before Draco's elaborate plan, he stayed within the harems apparently with no qualms. The women there had all developed crushes on him and he was their favorite pet, in a sense. The other male servants that helped the ladies fell in love with him. He was popular, to say the least. So when he returned and glared at everyone who looked at him, wouldn't follow the other servants into more private areas, and even snapped at the ladies instead of helping them, well… no one was quite sure how to react.

Of their observations, they gathered that he was irritated because he wasn't useful anymore. "As if I'm some toy that can be replaced," he would mutter to himself angrily. And, at other times, "He's just a damned peasant – a slave!"

Harry was simply lucky that he picked the lock and escaped to the kitchens, which was when Blaise, assuming Harry was still in his tower, lit the door on fire.

Blaise took the lamp from the brothels; Blaise waited until all errands were finished and most servants and slaves were bound to be asleep; he lit the door ran down the tower stairs and to the corridors, waited for a few minutes; and only when he heard, "FIRE!" did he continue back down to the brothels to curious gazes. "Where were you?"

He only shrugged at the question and replied in a detached tone, "The foreign princess's tower is on fire."

Yes, Blaise had also poisoned Harry's tea before paying the server a large amount of money to serve the specific cup to the foreign princess. Why? Well, it was as Draco earlier said, wasn't it? Blaise was a hungry tiger; a jealous, hungry tiger.

While the perpetrator is a secret that is held between you and me, the fact that someone tried to kill the foreign princess is not. Rumors swept throughout the castle and into the village before night was even complete. And, in the middle of the forest, the spy headquarters were thrown into chaos before the sun had a chance to rise.

"What do you mean, Harry was nearly killed!" Ron demanded.

Bill, who had been roaming the streets as usual, listening to conversations and bits of information, replied, "I mean exactly what I said. The tower he was sleeping in was burnt down, but apparently Malfoy's son – er – visited earlier that evening and took him to his chambers, so Harry luckily wasn't in the tower – "

Molly nearly fainted.

"I have to go back there!" Ron said. "And Harry's coming back with me."

To his surprise, Remus and Arthur exchanged resigned looks.

"But what about the data collector?" Kingsley's deep voice was grave.

"What about him? Harry will be killed if we don't rescue him!" Fred or George said.

It was decided that Ron would return to the castle as soon as Remus finished giving him the specific outline of the plan.

The sun was rising when he slipped into the manor using one of the secret passages. He roamed the halls scattered with still-frantic and worried servants, but he didn't care that there were a lot of people about. He was only concerned about getting to Harry. However, before he could successfully make it to the kitchens, he was stopped:

"You again!"

Ron thought that the particular hall he was hurrying down was empty, so he couldn't help but jump when he heard a voice directly behind him. He spun around and saw the same girl with the weird name that had caught him last time, the one with the bushy hair. Those hands on her hips, that untrusting stare…

"Where are you going?"

"The kitchens," he said quickly as he tried to continue on his way, but the girl wasn't satisfied:

"Again?"

"Yeah. I work there."

"I checked with the head cook. He doesn't seem to know that he received someone fitting your description."

"Well, there are new slaves and servants everyday, so he probably just doesn't remember me – "

Hermione stared at him, scrutinizing, as if searching for a hint or trace of a lie. "I don't believe you."

Ron stilled. "Well – that's nice and all, but I really need – "

"I think you're the one that's trying to kill the princess."

And, at this, Ron's blinked and would've laughed hadn't he been in such a hurry. "Me? Try to kill the princess?"

"Why else would a villager hide inside of the castle and pretend to be a slave?"

"I am a slave!"

"You're not in uniform."

Ron glanced down at the clothes he was wearing and felt his heart skip a beat at his stupidity; no wonder so many people were staring. "I left my uniform in the kitchen. That's why I need to – "

"Rubbish," Hermione glared. "I should turn you in!"

"No!" Ron looked around. "You can't do that. I need to get to the kitchens – it's important – "

"You're the assassin. You're going to be executed." And at that, she turned on her heel to march to the closest guards.

Ron suddenly became very furious at Hermione and ran in front of her to prevent her from going anywhere.

"Get out of my way!" she cried. "You're to be punished for what you've done – "

"I'm not trying to kill Harry, you idiot, I'm trying to help him!"

The expression on Hermione's face suddenly became very odd indeed. "Harry?"

Ron's eyes widened and he nearly knocked himself over the head. "Ah – it's – erm – I meant – "

"You… you know Harry?"

Now, of course, Ron was expecting anything but this response. For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, slightly suspiciously but mostly in wonder. They both came to the same conclusion, though Hermione arrived at it first: they were both on the same side. Ron, however, was never very smart about keeping his mouth shut, and he said the next second, in a rather hushed and marveled tone:

"Are you part of the Order too?"

Hermione almost let, "The – Order?" slip, but instead she smoothly lied, "Yes. I am. What're you going to do?"

"I have to go rescue Harry!" Ron said, relieved that this suspicious girl was actually on his side. Now she would, no doubt, let him continue to the kitchens.

"From what?"

"From what?" Ron was bewildered. "From the assassin, of course! From the damned castle! He's spied on the Malfoy's enough. He doesn't need to stay," he defended when she seemed to get a slightly haughty expression to her face.

"Spy?"

"Yes. He's in the spy department. I guess that you're part of the department that watches out for him and makes sure that he doesn't get into any trouble." And, when he realized that he was rambling, he said, "I have to go!"

"Wait!" Hermione said. "Er – how are you going to rescue him?"

"I'm going to take him from the castle, of course! And back to headquarters!"

Hermione, torn, watched the boy in front of her. The part of her that secretly thought of Harry's nature suspicious – the part that caught him reading Draco's journal, the part that realized that he was a bit too defiant for his own good – realized that this spy was telling the truth, no matter how insane it sounded. She'd known that there was a high possibility that a rebellious organization was forming. Repressed people always rebel, as history showed her. But Harry – part of that rebellion? The part that half-disbelieved this fact was also the half that believed Ron was a complete loony bin.

But it didn't really matter what she thought. The fact was that this boy knew Harry's name and therefore knew the real Harry – the man Harry, from the village. Hell, he was probably one of the very friends Harry spoke of so much. All of them had red hair, after all, just like the one in front of her.

And then there was the thought that overshadowed all others: Harry was about to be rescued. Harry was about to be taken from the castle. And… well, she would probably never see Harry again. Yet… he would also be safe and would return to where he belonged – to the friends and family he so often mentioned.

"I can help you," she said with a guided expression. "I'll take you to him."

Ron was supposed to go to the kitchens to wait to be taken to wherever Harry was, but he knew that it would be much faster to just leave with Hermione. Thankfully, he nodded and followed her through the halls.

Draco was in a highly important meeting with his father and his mother. They were discussing the second assassination attempt, most likely, and what the next step should be. It was bound to last hours. That's why she wasn't worried when she took Ron to Draco's chambers. Harry had long ago come out from underneath the covers, but at the clicking sound his heart skipped a few beats. His expression changed from uncertain fear within seconds.

"Hermione – Ron!"

He looked from one to the other, wondering if it was another dream. Had he at some point fallen asleep? "What – ?"

Ron rushed over to the bed. "Harry, you have to come with me – now. You're expected to return to headquarters by the end of the night."

Harry looked pointedly at Hermione, but Ron waved her off. "She's in the Order too," he rushed off, but at Hermione's guilty look Harry realized Ron's grave mistake. Ron didn't seem to notice anything, but Hermione quickly said to Harry:

"I won't tell anyone that you're spies," she said quickly. "I just wanted to help you. I – I'll also give you a secret passage out of here, if you want."

"Wait… you… You lied!" Ron rounded on her, indignant. He automatically reached for the knife hidden in his boot; it was beaten into all members of the Order from a young age to kill anyone who learned their secret or prepare to die themselves.

Harry, however, grabbed Ron's wrist and shook his head.

"Harry, she – "

"I know," Harry said heavily. "But she's – " he watched her for a moment before nodding. "She can be trusted. I'm sure of it."

"It doesn't matter if you think she can be trusted! She needs to be taken care of!"

Harry snatched Ron's knife away and turned it on him. Ron froze. "Harry…"

"She can be trusted, Ron. Don't worry," he said slowly and calmly.

"You've been brainwashed, haven't you? You're on the Malfoy's side now… aren't you?"

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Don't jump to stupid conclusions, Ron. Of course I'm still on your side."

"Then why do you have my own knife turned against me?"

"To make sure that you don't kill her."

Hermione was nervously fidgeting. "Ron, was it?"

Ron turned his glare on her.

"I… I'm sorry for tricking you." She nodded fervently. "It's just that… I'm as worried for Harry as you are. I just wanted to help. Honestly."

He looked away with a faint blush across his face, but he still didn't seem completely convinced. Either way, he didn't have any more time to waste; Harry was expected at HQ immediately.

"All right, fine! Come on, Harry, let's get out of here." He turned on his heel but stopped short of his next step when he heard Harry reply:

"I can't come with you."

"What!" Ron turned his angry gaze to Harry. "This isn't a joke anymore, Harry! The others want you back with me – NOW."

"I can't come back!" Harry shook his head. "I have more spying that can be done. If I work at it, I can figure out what more of Lucius's plans are – "

"Harry, you'll be safer out of the castle," Hermione said with a bewildered expression; surely Harry had realized this on his own.

"My safety is nothing in comparison to the rest of the villager's safety."

"We can kill the Malfoy's without this information; we can send someone else in," Ron glared.

"Kill…?" Harry looked at Ron. "We're not trying to kill the Malfoy's. Just remove them from power so that they won't – "

"Harry, what the bloody hell is wrong with you!"

Flushed with anger, Ron grabbed Harry's shoulders and shook him roughly. "You're not yourself! You have to – "

Harry grabbed Ron's hands and shoved him away. "No. I'm staying."

They seemed to be on the brink of having a full battle to the death before Ron, utterly furious and brick red, stormed out of the room and slammed the doors shut behind him. Hermione glanced at Harry, who was also red but with a more guarded expression on his face.

"Harry…"

Harry turned and went to the bed to sit down. "I don't think he'll tell anyone that you know. You're safe."

"You can't seriously want to stay."

"I do. You wouldn't understand the importance…"

"Then help me understand."

She sat down beside Harry and gazed at him.

"The less you know, the better. For your own safety. You know?" But Harry's eyes were clouded over.

"You're going to kill the Malfoy's. You're going to kill Draco." She was frowning heavily.

"No," he said instantly. "I'll make sure that they don't get killed – just that their tyranny seizes completely. I'll make sure of it."

"How else is this tyranny going to come to a complete stop? And the people – how will you appeal to their wishes? You know that they'll want their deaths…"

Harry hesitated before answering, "I don't know yet."

"Are you going to tell him?"

Harry flushed guiltily. "How can I?"

Hermione nodded in understanding and said a moment later, "I'm not all that surprised, actually."

"You mean you knew?"

"No, not really. I was just… suspicious."

"Oh." Big surprise there.

"Your friend seemed pretty mad, though."

"Yeah, well… I guess he can't understand that I take my responsibilities pretty seriously."

"It seemed that your responsibility was to return to your headquarters," Hermione eyed Harry. "That's the gist of what I got when he said that you were expected – "

"But they don't know that I can get more information – "

"That's not why you're here."

"What? Of course it is – "

"There's something else, though."

"What d'you – "

"You're lying to yourself."

"What could I be lying to myself about?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

They stared at each other for a while.

"Do you like it here?"

"Yeah."

"Do you like having to lie to everyone you know here?"

"No, not particularly."

"But it's part of your job, right?"

"Right."

"Strictly business."

"Of course."

"Nothing to do with Draco."

"Well, he's a Malfoy – "

"So you spy on him."

"What're you trying to say?"

"That you like him."

"Of course I do. He's my friend. Well, I mean – he isn't hateful. At least, not as much as he used to be – or as much as I thought he was."

"And he's the real reason why you stayed."

Harry furrowed his eyebrows but didn't reply.

"You can still catch up with your friend, if you want."

Harry merely shook his head, staring intently at the floor. Hermione, satisfied, stood and said, "I'll go to the kitchens and get you something to eat. You must be famished."

And at that, she got up to leave him in the room.

Now, I apologize – earlier, I believe that I stated that, as far as I could see, the Lady Prophet would not be mentioned again… however, I obviously have bad vision, because – for the second time in two nights, creating a world record – she left her tower and meandered to Lord Malfoy's chambers to declare there would be another assassination attempt.


	13. chapter thirteen

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lord Lucius Malfoy didn't give a rat's ass about the wellbeing of the foreign princess – no, not really. He only cared that she survived long enough to be married and pump out a healthy baby or two that could succeed Draco. That, and binding the two powerful nations together, which would bring him to power faster – and you know how the saying goes: "the faster, the better." Afterwards, she could be assassinated, brought back to life, and assassinated again for all he cared.

Well, the first step to get what he wanted was to get her married to Draco, so it really shouldn't be very surprising when he declared that his son and foreign princess would be married the next day.

Draco wasn't caught off guard by this because they'd already discussed the marriage in the meeting. He wanted to push the date back a little bit further for some reason unknown to even himself, but his father securely and firmly stated that the wedding would be the next day, cueing to Lady Malfoy to begin planning for the quick yet marvelous event.

To say that he was in a daze was an overstatement. For a few hours after the meeting, he sat at his desk, oblivious to Harry's stare, gazing at his wall as if he were attempting to reach Nirvana. It was the conclusion of the plan he had worked on for so long. It was what would seal his future and keep him safe from becoming what he dreaded becoming.

Harry was just as overcome. Even though this was just a play – something that would be acted on a stage, and nothing more – he couldn't help but feel that it was slightly real. Don't get me wrong: he wasn't excited to prance around in a white wedding gown. If anything, he was anxious and dreaded the morning with all his being.

"I'm going for a walk," he suddenly said, standing up from the desk.

"Er – all right," Harry blinked as he swept across the room. "But – I thought Hermione was coming to prepare us – "

"I've seen enough royal weddings to know what happens," he dismissed the idea. "Basically, we walk down the aisle, listen to the priest yap for an hour, have sex in front of everyone – "

"What!"

"I'm joking, Harry," Draco smirked. "Royal weddings are just like common weddings." And surprisingly similar to traditional American weddings, too. "The only difference is that more money is wasted in the royal ones."

He was standing at the entrance. "I'll be back by the end of the evening." Harry nodded and watched as he left.

Several moments later, Hermione entered. "Where's Draco?" she looked around.

"He went for a walk."

She closed her eyes and sighed in such a way that suggested she was counting to build her patience. "All right, fine. When will he be back?"

"By the end of the evening," Harry muttered and flopped onto the bed.

"That man is absolutely ridiculous," she glared as she sat down next to him.

Harry shrugged. "I suppose he just needed to be by himself for a while."

"I suppose…" she paused before asking, "How is it here?" almost anxiously. She found that she had to come to terms with the fact that Harry would be staying with Draco at Lady and Lord Malfoy's requests. They thought that the foreign princess would be safer with their son, and Draco – "pretending" to care – eagerly agreed with them. Hermione apparently begged to differ.

"It's okay," Harry actually let his lips quiver into a smile. "When he isn't being arrogant and obnoxious, anyway." Of course, he didn't mention what Draco had said to him – both at the lake and a few moments ago.

"Well, I can't stay today," Hermione said, obviously upset with the fact. "I have to work with the other scholars. We're researching for the whole of today and will be off just in time to watch the wedding tomorrow morning."

"Who is supposed to help me prepare for the wedding?" Harry demanded. "I can't very well walk up an aisle tomorrow, not knowing what the hell I'm – "

"I had Blaise contacted," Hermione interrupted calmly. "He'll be on his way up shortly."

Harry, resigned that he would have to be left alone with the annoying, pompous fool that he thought – rather, hoped – he would never have to set his sights on again. After waving goodbye to Hermione, who left for the libraries, he flopped backwards to stare at the ceiling.

"Why couldn't Draco just help me?" he muttered to himself. "It's as he said: he's seen enough royal weddings." Besides, he preferred the bored drawl over the self-superior roll of the eyes any day.

Alone, he glanced at the desk where the golden journal was displayed. He had watched Draco write in it earlier, but he simply couldn't bring himself to read it. He felt like he was intruding on Draco's privacy now and felt guilty whenever he looked back on the fact that he read the journal almost whenever he had the chance. It was his only real means of spying, after all.

"But I'll find another way," Harry told himself.

Draco had been walking by the very garden and lake that he and Harry spent talking by after Harry was poisoned. He vaguely remembered how he and Harry had sat there; how he had promised Harry freedom.

"Freedom," he said with a smirk.

It was one thing that he and Harry shared in common, at least. They both craved it.

He sat on the rock that they had shared as their seats. He stared out at the scene, letting his thoughts and musings carry him away. When was the last time he sat like this by himself, as if he hadn't a care in the world?

Tomorrow was the finale to what they had both stressed over for so long, together had worked on fervently, excessively, passionately. Harry seemed nervous – but of course he would be. That was completely understandable.

He didn't seem to think much of Draco's point: how he always got what he wanted it, when he wanted it, and he didn't need an explanation as for why. A part of Draco knew that he wasn't supposed to care, and that this would probably be a good time to begin planning a way to ambush Harry and get away with it without Hermione finding out (and it had to be quick, too, before Harry left after the wedding) – but he couldn't bring himself to.

"Maybe I'm catching something," he murmured to himself. The flu had been going around. Then again, maybe he was only losing his mind – that's something that Blaise would say. And hell, maybe he was right. Only Insane Draco would hesitate about making a move.

"He would go on to say I'm insane for wanting Harry. For even considering him attractive in the first place; thinking him worthy of my attention."

But Blaise was only jealous in that childish, immature manner of his. Of course he would think that Draco was insane.

I think I was at approximately this moment that Draco suddenly stiffened. His eyes narrowed as he thought about the possibility. And without a second to waste, he was off of the rock and rushing back towards where Harry was supposed to be.

Earlier, Harry was thanking the Gods that he could once again return to lounging around in men's clothes and that he could wear his glasses whenever he wanted. The only good thing about his tower being burned down was that he could be himself again in the privacy of Draco's chambers.

Spending the night with Draco was fun too, now that he thought of it. They stayed up half of the night together, talking about what they would do as soon as they left the castle, but not exactly sure when they would leave. Perhaps Harry would stay even longer after the wedding, being the next Lady Malfoy in line, living with Draco for a month or two before they both left. And even then, perhaps Harry could leave with Draco. They could travel together, pretend that they had been kidnapped from the castle walls, and live as they truly were: Harry, a man; Draco, a book analyst. Harry could convince the others that staying with Draco on his journeys would be another means of spying. Admittedly, this was a bit of a stretch, but…

Last night, neither spoke about the poisoning, the fire, or the conversation at the lake. He was avoiding those heavy thoughts that seemed to be haunting him lately – Ron's angry face, Hermione's analytical words, and Draco's utter straight-forwardness.

Yet those thoughts seemed to somehow seep in now and again, and he would find himself remembering Draco's serious face, those words that sent a jolt through him. He remembered his own declaration to Hermione: he could take care of himself. Was he wrong to begin to doubt himself?

The door opened. He glanced over, expecting to see Draco for a flitting moment. His face almost fell in disappointment as he saw Blaise standing at the entrance. The door closed and locked with a click.

"I haven't seen you in a while," Harry tried to begin amicably. There was no point in starting off a long afternoon with an argument, after all.

But Blaise didn't say anything. He merely stepped forward. A frown was on his face.

When Harry saw that Blaise wasn't going to say or do anything, he continued, "Yeah, I'm not exactly enthusiastic about this either." He sighed and stood up. "But we should probably just get this over with."

"Get what over with?"

Harry blanked. "Hermione said she was sending you up to prepare me for tomorrow. You know, the marriage ceremony?"

"I don't know much about it myself." His detached tone was beginning to annoy Harry.

"Then…" Harry frowned. "Well, how am I supposed to…?"

Blaise shrugged and sat down at Draco's desk.

"Is something the matter?" Harry asked in exasperation.

"Of course something's the matter," Blaise said abruptly with a near snarl.

Harry's eyebrow quirked up. He'd never seen Blaise lose his cool composure before. "What is it?"

"You didn't die." Blaise turned a glare to Harry.

"I… didn't – ?" But why was Harry so shocked? If anyone was hoping he'd be killed, of course it would be Blaise; Pansy was probably just as disappointed that her supposed plans didn't work.

"No. You didn't." The pout was heavy. "You just bloody wouldn't!"

Harry's frown grew heavy into a scowl. "I'm sorry for letting you down."

Sitting at Draco's desk, watching Harry sit on the bed, he was fingering the case of the knife that was attached to his belt. "You know, I've been wondering – how did you survive that fire? Did you jump out of the window and hide in the rafters?"

"No," he paused. "I left the room for a midnight snack."

"But I thought that the room was locked from both sides! How did you get out?"

"It was locked. I picked it."

"You picked it!" Blaise echoed. His eyes narrowed. "First the bloody tea, and then you had to – "

"How did you know about the tea?"

But of course, by this time Harry had half-figured it out. He was cautiously standing up from the bed.

Blaise was watching him intently. "Don't try to go anywhere; there's no point. This time, the door is locked and you don't have enough time to pick it."

The statement was too true. Jumping from the room wasn't an option either. Like many other people who find themselves in Harry's situation, he decided to stall: "I know we never got along, but this – this is ridiculous! Why would you want to kill me?"

"You were confusing Draco!" Blaise shouted. He was on his feet. His hand was still on the knife's case. "You – you seduced him – "

"I _what_?" Harry would've laughed hadn't the situation been so serious. "It's not my fault that he's attracted to anything that moves!"

"But you're just a bloody slave! A royal shouldn't be attracted to a slave!"

"It's not my fault!"

"And after you showed up, the only thing he was concerned about was the bloody plan and you! Harry this, Harry that – he practically forgot about me – "

"But Blaise," Harry interrupted quietly. The best move would be to try to calm him down, he silently decided. "That's not my fault. I got sucked up into this! There's no point… He's – he's going to let me go – "

"Maybe not," he admitted. "No, you're right: there is no point. But I would feel better knowing that you're dead anyway." He was almost overdramatically passionate, crazed; and his motive, his drive for murdering Harry, was the same as a seven-year-old brother who jealously threw his one-year-old sister down a flight of stairs: he wasn't getting anymore attention. As he had that one boy beaten and raped – nearly to death – he was, in his logical eye, merely getting rid of what had taken Draco's attention away from him. Perhaps after Harry was dead, Draco would begin to take him on summer tours again and wouldn't abandon him to the Harems as he had so long ago.

He was moving towards Harry; the blade was pulled out. Harry was backing away, trying to think quickly about what his next move should be.

Because of his training, Harry could have easily gotten the knife away. He'd done it countless times with Remus already. However, during all of those moments he'd known that he was simply training. Now, in a real-life situation, he couldn't anticipate remembering the steps for disarming an enemy. Instead, he grabbed the thing nearest to him (in this case, a vase), and chucked it at Blaise, but it was barely dodged. The glass fell with a crash. Harry reached for anything else that was heavy and handy.

Now, what better time would there be for Draco to finally arrive? Red from running, he unlocked the door and slammed it open. He hesitated at the entrance, having not expected to find what was displayed before him. (Hermione hadn't told him about her change of plans and so he expected to see her there – not Blaise.) The words, "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" were out before he made the conscious connection that he ought to do something. Blaise turned to him. The blade was being clutched so tightly that his knuckles were stark white.

"Put it down," Draco demanded.

Harry was inching away while Blaise's gaze was focused away from him. He finally slipped away completely and ran towards Draco and the open door. Blaise glanced at Harry for only a second, but then turned his stare back to Draco.

"Go alert the guards," Draco told Harry, his eyes never leaving Blaise's. "Tell them to come here."

But before Harry could comply, Blaise rushed forward with a stabbing motion. Draco shoved Harry out of the way; he fell to the ground with a thud. Having missed the target, Blaise seemed keen on trying again, but Draco jumped in the way. Instead, he ran through the open doors and down the corridor. Draco ran after him, and Harry jumped to his feet.

"Draco, stop!"

But both of them were gone, Draco having just turned the corner. A servant was standing against the wall, pale and trembling. "He had a knife out!" she squealed at Harry as he ran by.

Down two corridors, up a staircase, around a corner – a lapse in confusion (where did they go? ah!) – and Blaise was thrown to the floor, the knife snatched from him and skating across the floor, a fist flying angrily into his face.

"Draco, stop it!" Harry grabbed Draco's shoulders and tugged him away, giving Blaise enough time to jump back up and attempt to get the knife once again; Harry was shoved away and Blaise tackled again. "Get the knife!" he yelled.

Harry was already picking it up when Draco said this. Staring backwards at the suppressed Blaise and Draco clutching him, he stood there in silence, listening to the hard breathing and the brash moments when Blaise would give way to struggling. He didn't know what else he could do.

"If you're done," Draco growled.

"He should be dead."

"Bring the knife," Draco said to Harry.

"No."

"Bring the bloody knife!"

"You can't kill him, Draco."

"And why the hell not!"

Blaise had begun to struggle furiously. "You would rather destroy me than him!"

"There's no point."

"He just tried to kill you! He's tried to several times." Draco dragged Blaise up into a standing position. "But perhaps you should be the one to kill anyway."

"He won't die at all."

"Especially not by his hand!" Blaise nearly got away that time, pushing both of them off balance and onto the ground again.

When he had the prisoner securely gripped, Draco said, "And what would you have me do? Release him, to allow him to have the freedom to murder you in your sleep?"

"Let him replace Pansy's empty chains!"

"What am I supposed to tell the prison guards? That he killed one of my dogs? They'll – everyone! – will want a reason why the Harem's royal servant has been locked away. And it'd better be a reason that parallels the truth if he ought to be in prison for the amount of time he deserves."

By this time, Blaise had slumped against Draco, pathetically and half-heartedly twitching away every other moment as he listened to his trial, his judgment. He'd given up – knew that he couldn't get away – but this didn't stop him from glaring coldly at Harry.

The hallway being far too open, Draco took Blaise back to his room, ordering Harry to interrupt Hermione at the scholar's meeting in the library. Harry had to get Draco's solemn promise that Blaise wouldn't mysteriously die while he was away.

The old men sitting about in robes all stared up in polite confusion while Hermione shut the door behind her. She turned on Harry in their privacy.

"What happened?" She was alarmed, for Harry was pale and trembling. In addition to this, she knew whatever was the matter had to be serious if Draco would interrupt a scholar's meeting by sending Harry as a messenger.

"It was Blaise," he whispered as they hurriedly walked through the halls.

"What about him?"

"It was him! He was the one that tried to kill me."

Hermione stopped; Harry halted as well and turned to look at her. A hand was covering her mouth. "My Gods, I hadn't the faintest – why would he ever? – and you left Draco alone with him?"

"I told him not to…"

Nevertheless, they hastily made way to the bedroom. Draco had to open the door, for he'd locked it; at first, Harry and Hermione thought that Blaise was freely reclining on the couch, but then they saw that a strip of cloth was tightly tied around one ankle and was connecting him to the leg of the sofa. His hands, sitting in his lap, were bound by the same material as well.

"Why?"

That's how the interview began (for Hermione suggested it necessary in order to see whether Blaise was permanently dangerous and therefore needed to stay in an asylum for the rest of his life or merely had a mental lapse and could be trusted once again.) But this is also how it nearly ended, for at first he refused to speak. Draco had to physically threaten to hit him on his already bruising cheek for him to pipe up:

"He already knows why." The cold stare he fired at Harry sent a chill up his spine.

Hermione had quickly gotten over the initial shock and was as cold to Blaise as he was to Harry: "If you make this hard for me, Blaise, I swear I'll recommend that Draco have you put to death – no matter what Harry wants."

Harry was the only of the three against Blaise in the private trial that didn't want him to suffer death. "Don't get me wrong," Harry scowled at Blaise. "He should be bloody punished. I could barely walk from that poisoning, and I'm lucky I got hungry else I would be scattered ashes right now."

It was just that death was the ultimate price to pay, reserved for only the worst of _successful_ crimes. And… well, as Hermione would come to understand later from her private discussion with Harry, he also felt sorry for Blaise. Part of him realized that they had something in common: both had been used. But unlike Blaise, Harry didn't depend on his tormentor – at least, not so obsessively. This made him pity the other all the more, no matter what Blaise's crimes were.

Draco didn't feel flattered that Blaise would kill for him – not, not in the least. On the contrary, he wanted Blaise to pay with death and argued for a good length of time with Harry before he gave in and allowed Hermione to interview.

It took a good while before Blaise opened up and confessed to everything. Red jealousy was the single motive.

"He had this planned and knew what he was doing," Hermione explained to Draco and Harry near the desk, out of Blaise's earshot. "He needs to be imprisoned permanently." Case closed.

Except that Harry disagreed: "Why ruin a life?"

"He tried to ruin yours!"

Harry looked away.

"Harry, Draco has a point – "

"As do I! All of this won't matter – "

But Draco turned away in disgust.

"Just keep him in prison until tomorrow – until the marriage ceremony," Harry suggested to Hermione. He looked at Draco. "Everyone's expected to attend that."

"That might not be such a good idea," Hermione interrupted. "Watching you two marry will only infuriate him."

"So what? Pretty soon, I'll be gone anyway."

Draco's back seemed to be the only thing he would let Harry see at that point.

"Stop being so immature!" Hermione snapped. "Harry's made a good point."

He refused to say anything.

"Please, Draco," Harry rested a hand on Draco's shoulder. "This is the one thing I'm asking. I'll leave and everyone's lives will go back to normal."

"Oh really?" he turned to look at Harry, eyebrows raised. "You think it's as simple as that. You think that you'll leave and all will be forgotten?"

"Yes. There's no point in destroying Blaise's life – "

"Even though he tried to destroy yours."

After a pause, he nodded at Hermione; together they came to the agreement that Blaise went through the foreign princess's wardrobe without any permission. The royal guard was summoned while Harry was hiding out of sight and took the strangely quiet and submissive Blaise away.

After such a day, Harry only wanted to sleep. Hermione, however, took the opportunity to sit both of them down and have them practice the motions of the ceremony until Draco got fed up and left, dragging Harry along with him.

"I've never been more annoyed with a person," he declared. They both knew that he wasn't speaking about Hermione or even Blaise.

Harry smirked.

"Wipe that look off of your face!" he glared at Harry. "I'm serious!"

When Harry only relented slightly, he thrust his hand against the other's shoulder. "Something has to be wrong with you. What's wrong with you? You were nearly killed just a few hours ago! If I hadn't come and stopped that bastard, you would be dead – as he should be right now."

This was enough to make Harry frown. "I don't understand why you're so bloodthirsty."

"Because he tried to kill you, that's why. If anything had happened to you…"

The frankness was enough to make Harry stand up out of his chair and stare at the rows of books on the shelves. They were in Draco's bathroom; the door was still locked, even though Hermione had long ago given up shaking, knocking, and rattling, and had returned to her scholar's meeting. Everything was marble, including the large circular tub in the center of the room. It had been Draco's sanctuary after admitting the others into his room, but now he allowed Harry to stay inside of it with him. Harry picked up a copy of Draco's favorite book, the one he'd read at Draco's request, and flipped through the pages before settling it back down on the shelf. He turned to look at him.

"I really could've died a few hours ago, couldn't I have?"

Draco stared icily at him. The angry look reminded Harry of Ron. He was right; he should've left when he had the opportunity. He didn't stay because he wanted to spy at all, and the childish attachment had nearly gotten himself killed.

"I… After the marriage tomorrow, can I leave?" Harry looked away. "I… I have too many responsibilities to take care of. I have to get back home."

Draco's eyes lowered and he didn't seem to have anything to say until he nodded. "I'll leave after you. You'll continue your old life and I'll begin my new one."

They were oddly silent for a moment, neither able to think of anything to say, until Draco began to twist the knobs. Hot water began to pour into the tub. Harry glanced over at the sound and raised an eyebrow as Draco began to strip off his clothes.

"You're going to take a bath? _Now_?"

"What other better time is there?" He tossed his shirt onto the floor. "It's usually what I do whenever I've had a particularly stressful day."

"But in front of me?"

"I don't have anything you haven't seen before," he smirked, but Harry, nevertheless, turned away as his pants dropped to the floor. "You can leave, if you really feel than uncomfortable." Harry began to edge towards the door, but stopped when Draco continued, "Though I really was hoping you'd join me."

The look on Harry's face was priceless. Draco began to laugh/borderline cackle as he climbed up the steps and sat in the tub. "I won't try to pull anything – honestly, Harry."

"Why else would you – ?"

"Can't two friends bathe together?"

"If they're under the age of ten, sure!"

Draco shrugged. "Suit yourself." He leaned back with closed eyes and sighed in relaxation. "Just remember when you get back home that you passed on the one in a lifetime opportunity to bathe with Draco Malfoy. Oh, and pass that soap bottle there – the one to your left."

Harry handed it over to Draco who grasped it, screwed off the top, and let the gel pour into the water. Instantaneously, soap began to fizz.

"This is the soap I use whenever I'm alone. That soap, the one over there, is the one I use whenever Blaise or someone else from the Harems is with me. The scent is supposed to seduce romantics. I wouldn't quite know; it never worked for me. For the others, though…"

"Haven't you ever been in love, Draco?"

"Weren't you supposed to be leaving, then?"

Harry sneered. "You can't avoid the question."

"I feel like you've already asked me it before."

"Maybe I have."

"Malfoy's don't fall in love," he said simply after a moment's thought. "We have… infatuations." He looked at Harry. "Lust. But never love."

"That's sad," Harry leaned against the marble wall of the tub.

"Why?"

"Because you read about love all of the time in your novels, but you're never able to experience it yourself."

Draco shrugged. "I never thought of it that way. Then again, it might be because I'm a man and men usually aren't as hopeless as you are." Harry merely rolled his eyes in response. And then, after another short moment of silence, he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to join me?"

"Quite sure."

Instead, Harry leaned against the tub, back facing Draco, as they spoke – even long after the suds had all died and made the water misty.

AN: I hope you liked this chapter! Tell me what you think, please. I tried to justify Blaise's motives again as well as I could because I realized too late that I didn't concentrate on his jealousy well enough through out all of the chapters for his intent to make much sense to anyone but me. I tried, though. Really, I did. And I've been working hard to get these chapters out as quickly as I can!


	14. chapter fourteen

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The streets were brimming with celebration. The people crowded to the very cracks and alleyways, singing and impatiently waiting for the news to be announced: that they, the foreign princess and Draco Malfoy, had been married. For to them, the marriage was like the coming of Jesus Christ in our world. When she became their Lady, there would be a new generation of hope; for the kindness of the foreign princess was as legendary as her beauty. She was gentle with the servants, spoke to them as their equals, and made it clear that she truly wanted to help.

"I heard she's going to make better schools," the mother of seven whispered to her friend.

"I heard she's going to lessen taxes," a failing business man said with excitement.

"I heard that there won't be anymore fighting," were the words from a younger man, who had been pressured many times into joining the training ranks of the royal guard.

Imagine, the Malfoy Province finally becoming a place of peace, harmony, and prosperity! After so many years of tyranny and suffering, always on the brink of fear of a massacre by the hands of the royal guard and always on the edge of famine… finally.

Everyone took the day off, even the Fat Lady running the bread stand. Under the bright sun, smiles went all around. In fact, the only frown that could be found was inside of the spy headquarters.

In the heavy shadow that seemed to cover the forest itself, Ron was chucking stones at old bottles propped up on the railing of the porch. The twins were reclining behind of him, impatiently waiting for their older brothers to return so that it would be their turn to patrol the streets. Kingsley was at guard in front of them. Ginny came from inside the house, swinging the door shut behind her, and opened her mouth to announce that dinner would be ready soon – but stopped when she noticed the gloomy silence.

"What's with all of the long faces?" she asked mockingly. "This is a big day, you know!"

"What are you, eager for Harry to die?" Ron muttered. The bottle that was the next victim to the execution by stones cracked and fell over with a crash.

"Be careful with that, Ron!" she frowned; everyone looked over at the crash, Kingsley frowning deeply at the amount of noise they were making. Ginny made the point of saying more quietly, "And he's not going to die."

"How d'you know?" Fred or George asked. "Malfoy's son won't have any use for him anymore, after all," the other continued. "He'll probably drop dead the second the ceremony is sealed."

"We can't even rescue him," Ron grabbed another rock from his personal pile. "Damn it, we can't even get into the castle. Not with the bloody royal guard surrounding the walls like they are."

"He'll get back to us," Ginny said confidently.

"Oh, yeah? How?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He just will. You should never second guess a woman's intuition," she said firmly.

The twins snorted. "Warn us when a woman comes along, then." They laughed at their own joke, much to Ginny's annoyance.

It was at half past noon that Bill and Charlie finally returned, giving Fred and George the chance to collect information; and it was at sunset that the twins came back with the news that it was official: Harry and Malfoy's son were married.

"We didn't see it ourselves, of course, but people were saying that Lords and Ladies from all over attended, including Lady Bordeaux."

"So it was a success, in other words?"

"Yeah," they both looked at Ron with a grin, "And, as far as I can see, Harry will be just fine – "

"For now, anyway."

Though Ron didn't completely believe them, this was the truth: the ceremony ended and Harry successfully became part of the Malfoy family. Of course, he was too drunk from the gathering after the ritual to really understand this to the full effect. The gallons of alcohol brought into the ballroom after the ceremony were as traditional as the ceremony itself. Honestly, it was one of the rare times righteous royal snobs wouldn't find gluttonous drinking appalling; and in fact, were likely to join in themselves. At first, Harry was merely secretly tugging at Draco to signal to him that he wanted to leave the large hall. There were too many drunk and obnoxious Lords, and the jealous animosity radiating from the other Ladies were getting on his nerves.

However, it was before long Harry accepted a glass, and another, and another, and – hey, what do you know? – another. By the middle of the night, he was laughing as loudly as the others and his voice was getting mysteriously deeper. On top of that, he was becoming – dare I say it? – insulting. He'd told Lord Kenton from Kenton Province that his hair looked like it was rat fur. When Lady Liang Chou tried to compliment him on his dress, he said he'd rather piss on it than wear it.

Draco, who had drunk as much as Harry did yet seemed much more sober, quickly took him out of the ballroom to the disappointment of their guests, lest they both make fools out of themselves (or worst: uncover their own secret.) The trek from the ballroom to Draco's chambers was difficult, for many interrupted to wish them luck with a long and prosperous life and healthy children. A fat man with craters on his cheeks suggested rather loudly (and for bystanders to hear) that they start working on that succeeding child as soon as they were in privacy. Draco had to clamp his hand over Harry's mouth to keep him from replying, for he was sure no one would like what Harry had to say about this.

"I can't believe they declared I was yours," Harry slurred once they were safely barred from the rest of the world. After taking his glasses back from Draco and gratefully slipping them back on, he instantly began to strip off the uncomfortable wedding gown. He hated to be reminded of the hundreds of guests calling him the most beautiful woman they'd ever seen being married.

"Technically, you are," Draco watched as Harry threw the dress into a crumpled heap.

"No," Harry snatched off the wig and threw it onto the dress. "I'm not. I'm a man and I'm my own."

"Not according to our laws."

Well, soon those laws would be overthrown anyway. Harry went to the bathroom, past the large tub, and to the sink; he washed off the make up and turned to see Draco standing at the entrance. "Can I borrow some of your clothes? I have a long journey to make to the head – I mean, to home." He looked like he was about to keel over any second.

Draco shuffled to the closet and gave Harry, who had followed him, a comfortable shirt and pants. "Are you sure you have to leave right now?"

"Don't you have to leave right after me?"

"I could fetch for some wine. We can have our private celebration – you know, for the success of the plan."

"I'm drunk enough as it is."

"Then stay and don't drink. It won't hurt any at all. Just stay the night with me."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you didn't want me to go."

"Well, maybe I don't," Draco said defiantly and with a little turn of the nose. "That's not a crime, is it?" Harry began to laugh at him. "What's so funny?"

"You are," he sat down on the sofa unsteadily. "You've always pretended to be so much higher and mightier, but it turns out that you're a human being with feelings after all."

"I'm sorry you got that impression," he shrugged. "Let me get some wine. You don't have to drink it if you don't want to."

"Fine," Harry sighed. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to stay a little longer."

Draco went outside, closing the door so that no one could see the half-naked male foreign princess. A servant was called and ordered to bring a bottle of wine and one glass. After reentering, Draco sat on the sofa beside Harry and began to strip off his royal attire himself.

"Royal weddings are a lot different," Harry noted as Draco tugged off his boots and began to unbutton his shirt.

"How so?"

"Well, for one there are a lot of guests. And then the ceremony takes a really long time. I mean, we had to exchange just about everything except our own hearts. Words, rings, flowers, gifts, wine… I was surprised that we didn't have to exchange kisses, though."

"Don't commoner ceremonies do that?"

Harry nodded.

Draco smirked. "It's a shame that we couldn't be similar in at least that one way."

Harry asked curiously, "Why don't you exchange that?"

"Tradition," he sighed. "It would be far too scandalous for such poised eyes," he added sarcastically.

"And then that priest was speaking a pretty long time too."

"That's also tradition."

"Your mom looked kind of happy with everything."

"Pansy didn't, especially since everyone seemed to believe that rumor I spread of her."

"I didn't see Blaise."

Draco's face suddenly became stern. "Neither did I."

There was a knock at the door. Draco went to receive the wine bottle and the glass before closing and locking the door.

"You know, you should probably be careful," Draco warned him with a low tone once they were settled.

"Of what?" Blaise was supposed to be in the Harem, after all, and the doors were locked.

Draco continued casually, "It's our wedding night, it's just the two of us, we're both considerably drunk and still drinking…"

"You're still drinking," he corrected, understanding the implication immediately. "And besides, I can handle myself," words came out with confidence.

Draco leered but didn't say anything. After a moment, he stood up and went to his desk.

"What're you doing?"

Draco was taking out his golden journal, ink bottle, and a quill to write with. He promptly sat down and began scratching away.

"What're you writing?" Harry stood up to walk over.

"Bring the wine," Draco ordered.

Harry settled on the edge of the desk, placing the wine bottle beside Draco's journal, and leaning over to glance down. At the top was, "Dear Lucius Malfoy."

"It's a letter to him," Draco smirked. "A good-bye letter, I suppose. He'll get it after we're gone tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. You don't actually plan on leaving tonight, do you?"

"Well…" Harry shrugged. "I guess I can stay one more night."

Draco grinned. "You can help me write this. I was thinking of starting off by declaring he's a cretin and all the reasons why, the finale being that he actually believed you were a foreign princess."

Harry smiled. "Then you can continue by saying why you don't want to be a Lord Malfoy."

"Good idea," Draco was scratching away furiously. He paused to pour a glass, but didn't drink it himself; he handed it to Harry instead. "It's not poisoned, I promise."

Since he wasn't leaving, he didn't need to worry about being sober for the journey home. Harry swallowed half of the glass in one gulp. He watched as Draco finished the letter and carefully tore it out of his journal. Next, he wrote one to his mother filled with apologies for deceiving her; and finally, to Harry's surprise (for he was sure Draco had forgotten his promise), he wrote one to Hermione with not only thanks for her help but a request for her to find the real thief who stole the jewel so long ago, thus helping to clear Harry's name.

"You haven't told Hermione that you're leaving?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't suppose she'll care. In fact, she might be ecstatic at the news – she won't have to play along with my games anymore, after all."

"She likes you a lot more than you think, you know." Harry was remembering how she defended Draco after Harry called him a tyrant.

"How about you?"

"What about me?"

"Do you like me a lot more than I think?"

Harry shrugged. "You don't deserve it, but I suppose so."

Draco took the empty glass from Harry, refilled it, and drank from it himself. He stood up and almost wavered. "Too kind, Harry; too kind."

"Well, you have changed a lot."

"No, I haven't changed at all," Draco said. "You just understand me more, that's all."

Draco tapped Harry on the shoulder, motioning for him to bring the wine bottle. They went to the bed and sat at the edge of it. "Congratulations to me," Draco said with a grin; and, as an after thought, "And to you, I suppose."

"Where are you going?"

"Ah, I haven't the faintest clue. I suppose I'll be a wanderer at first."

"You can start out at my house, if you want," Harry suggested without thinking.

Draco smiled. "Thanks, but no thanks. I need to get out of the province itself. I'll move north, through the main roads, until I reach another province; and who knows? Maybe, on one of my journeys, I'll find your homeland."

Harry laughed. "I wish you luck."

"I don't need luck. I'll be successful; I always am."

"Aren't you scared at all?"

"No," but it was obvious that he was lying. "But let's not think about that right now." He reached over and slipped off Harry's glasses.

"What're – ?"

"Shh," Draco smiled. "We're married now. I can do anything I want to you."

"But what are you _doing_?"

"I'm just admiring your eyes.

"How poetic," Harry said sarcastically. "But in the meanwhile, I can't see at all – " he was reaching out for his glasses, but Draco easily kept them out of his reach.

"I'll give them back, I promise. Just stay still for now."

Harry sighed with exasperation but complied. It was on reflex that he flinched away after feeling Draco's hands brush against the side of his face, but Draco insisted that he not look away.

"How long have you needed glasses?"

"Since birth."

Draco laughed. "That's not very convenient. And it's sad, too, how they hide your eyes."

"I don't care one way or the other; just as long as I can see."

Draco smirked. After a few seconds passed, he leaned his head to the side and, still studying Harry's glasses, mentioned, "You remember what I said by the lake, don't you?"

Harry instantly tensed. Apparently, he wasn't drunk enough yet to be completely relaxed during such a topic of discussion. Nonetheless, he answered, "Yeah. So?"

Draco turned a serious look at him and said, "You know very well."

Harry abruptly got up from the bed and staggered away. "Where are you going?" Draco called after him. "You can't see!"

Harry didn't reply, though he did almost trip and fall over the three stairs face-first to the floor. Draco followed him, took him by the arms, and guided him back to the bed. Harry wrenched his arms away after he sat down. "Can't I have my glasses back?"

Draco slipped them into his hand and watched as he put them back on. He stared straight ahead, his arms folded across his chest. It was as if he'd gone through a severe shock.

Draco was about to say something to interrupt the lengthy silence, but Harry beat him to it: "You know, I thought that you had changed," he turned an angry, disappointed, and unsteady gaze on him.

"Changed?" Draco rose an eyebrow. "You act as if being attracted to you is a crime."

A deep flush ran across Harry's face.

"It isn't, is it?"

"Well, no," he stammered and looked away. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point, then?"

"Aren't you satisfied with everything you have?" he riotously gestured to the gold, silk, and ivory of the room.

"Not quite. I still haven't had you."

"You're ridiculous," Harry sighed. "If it isn't one thing, it's the other. First I have to become your slave; next, I have to become a fake foreign princess. I have to go to balls with you; I had to be bored out of my mind day in, day out," he stopped and thought hard, his leg bouncing. Suddenly, his arms opened and he pointed wildly at the book shelf, "I had to read your books. I had to go to dinners and breakfasts, wear that God forsaken dress," he next pointed at the crumpled heap, "be kind to your parents, take Pansy's abuse, be around Blaise nearly every other second, and," his tirade slowed to a pause and his arm lowered. "I had to pretend to be in love with you." But it was obvious that his outburst was still continuing within. Perhaps he was pondering on how he had to give up his old, comfortable life; or maybe that this had been completely emotionally wearing. "And now, after marrying you, you expect me to have sex with you."

"Are you okay?" Draco asked after a moment of Harry's heavy breathing.

"As if you care." Harry returned to the position he was in before: his arms folded over his lap, his head turned away.

"Of course I care." Draco took a swig of the wine. "I don't want to fight with you. Not now."

Harry didn't say anything but he glanced at him and seriously asked, "Have you ever asked someone if they wanted to have sex or have you always raped to take what you wanted?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I don't remember."

"You don't remember."

"Why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I suppose."

Draco pushed away from Harry slightly to look at him. "Are you implying that I ought to ask you and you'll do whatever I want?"

"I never said that."

"But you implied it."

"You're drunk out of your mind."

"So're you."

Harry began to get a far-away look. "We'll both have trouble traveling tomorrow."

Draco leaned forward, but Harry moved away. "Don't."

"Why're you so afraid?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Yes you are. You're practically trembling." When Harry didn't answer, he continued with a touch of annoyance, "You're such a child." Harry looked away from Draco. "I'm not that disagreeable. Usually by now, I'm into the second round – maybe even third."

Harry's gaze, etched with dull irritation, turned back to him. "This is the only reason you wanted me to stay tonight, then?" When Draco didn't reply, he stood up and glared down at him. "Why don't you just get it over with, then? Since I'm your puppet, your little doll. Go on, I'm waiting. Rape me, like you've done everyone else."

The truth was, Draco didn't know the reason himself – that is, why he didn't just get it over with. He had planned to take Harry's glasses away, and as a result take his eyesight away from him too. It was then that he would go in for the kill; Harry wouldn't have been able to fight back as effectively. He would try to run, no doubt, but he would end up on the floor without his glasses. It was the perfect plan; Harry's use would've been completely spent by the end of the night.

Draco had planned for a few pleasurable rounds, savoring the first the most. He'd thought to himself that he could manage to go more slowly than he had in the past, just for Harry – just so that he wouldn't hurt him. He cared about him that much, at least. But somewhere along the way, he lost his will.

"Harry."

"What is it?"

"You can go, if you want to." Honestly, his will to take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and not really needing a reason as to why unexpectedly dissipated. Maybe it was Harry's betrayed and disappointed demeanor, or his own guilty conscience beginning to prod at him. He'd never quite felt sorry before, but now for some unknown reason, he did.

But Harry merely shook his head. "I'll end up slipping into a bog of some sort and drowning before I can get near the forest."

"You're not that drunk."

"Close enough to it," he muttered. He sat back down on the sofa. Standing up so suddenly had given him a dizzy spell.

"Harry."

With a perched eyebrow, Harry glanced at Draco who had just rested his head on Harry's shoulder.

"Can't I at least kiss you?"

Draco didn't expect Harry to begin to laugh, but that's exactly what he did, nonetheless. He pulled away to glare, which deepened at what he heard: "You're so desperate," he eventually managed to gasp out, "it's almost pathetic."

"I am not desperate!" Draco said hotly. And certainly not pathetic. "I can have anyone I want in this castle, including you! I just…" When Harry didn't seem convinced, he continued, "You're one to talk! You, who can't even watch another man bathe without feeling uncomfortable."

"That's different."

"How is that different?"

"Well, you were – _naked_," he implied at the foulness of it all.

"Harry, how else am I supposed to take a bloody bath? Not fully clothed, surely," he said dryly. "You're as bad as the royals outside of this bedroom," he muttered, resting his head back onto his living, breathing, and slightly peeved cushion.

But after a moment, Harry let himself relax. "I'm still angry at you, so I don't know why you're acting as if we're on good terms."

"I'm not. I only asked for a kiss. That's a simple thing, really, that can be shared between us, I think. I mean, after all, it's not as if we're perfect strangers. In fact, because we're married and it's my wedding night, I think I ought to be allowed that one privilege."

Harry decided it would be smarter not to answer. Draco leaned in closer and, when Harry didn't flinch away, even closer. "This'll be out last night together," he noted. "I'll never see you again, come tomorrow." It was such a depressing statement for him to make aloud, he realized; not that his heart was aching or bleeding or any of that nonsense he often read about in the lesser of the novels he'd read; rather, it was depressing in the sense that anyone would be after having to leave someone he'd become accustomed to being around day in, day out. He would miss Harry, yes; as a girl would miss an annoying sound she'd become accustomed to hearing.

"So you want something special to remember me by?" Harry remarked dryly.

Draco smirked. "If you want to put it that way, then yes."

Harry shook his head. "Where do you get these lines? Your books?" he looked at the bookshelf with near contempt.

"No, not at all," he smiled. And then, "Do you want more wine?"

"Why? So that you can lure me into your bed?"

"Partly," he admitted, "but it'll also help you relax."

Why he would need wine to relax, Harry didn't want to know. Draco fetched the first wine bottle, handed it to Harry, went outside to ask for a second and third, and, a few minutes later, he was back on the couch, drinking once again with Harry, who was hesitantly sipping.

"The problem with these drinks is that you sober too quickly after becoming drunk," Draco noted. "These are the traditional ones used during wedding nights. I would prefer the stronger type in the storage in the kitchen."

Harry knew the kind. He'd tasted some on his own a while ago. He nodded in agreement as he sipped. This was plenty fine too, though; it tasted nice and Draco was right, it did soothe his nerves.

"You're drinking like a girl," Draco hit him on the arm.

Harry flinched away with a slight blush; but he let the reddish wine flow into his mouth and he nearly choked on the large gulp. Draco whacked him on the back.

"We really, really won't be able to travel tomorrow," Harry noted aloud.

"Then you'll just have to stay here tomorrow, too. You'll probably be too sore to move, anyway."

Harry only looked down at the hand when it fell onto his leg and began to rub.

"That's enough stalling, I think," Draco noted with a smirk. He was far too impatient to wait more than he already had.

The wine bottle was taken from Harry, placed onto the floor, and Draco unpeeled the sheets as an invitation for Harry to get under with him. For some reason, Harry didn't see why he shouldn't join him. They'd slept together many times before, after all.

It was only after he was underneath Draco, practically pinned to the bed, that he remembered why it wasn't a good idea – and suddenly, he couldn't remember why the not-so-good idea wasn't good in the first place; in fact, it seemed like not such a bad idea. He had a welling inside of him, and he liked the sensations. The simple touches. He wasn't so gone to recognize that it was Draco making them. It did take him a moment to realize that the tingling against his lips was Draco, though.

"No protest whatsoever?" Draco quirked an eyebrow as he pulled away. "Maybe you drank too much after all."

AN: I finally gave in to the dramatic, romantic moment so many people were begging for. I didn't want it to be too cheesy, though. I tried. Honestly, I did. Thanks for all the great reviews! Everyone's been wonderful and extremely patient – almost too patient. (I can't believe it's been past a year since I started this story.) Anyway, please tell me what you think! I appreciate the comments, especially if it helps me in any way.


	15. chapter fifteen

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"I don't believe it."

"These letters found in Draco's room only confirm his scheme."

"I don't believe it."

"The wig that Zabini found should be evidence enough, really."

"The one he found in that wardrobe?"

"Yes. He secretly kept it, even while he was in prison and during the wedding, so that he could show it directly to you, Lord and Lady Malfoy."

"I don't believe it."

Lord Malfoy grimly scowled at the wig and the three letters placed in front of him. "Granger was in on it too."

"Granger's intelligence is far too important to the plans of the – er – overtake of the various provinces, sir," an advisor to the left whispered. Lord Malfoy nodded in agreement.

"I don't – "

"Would you like to go down to the bloody dungeons, then?" Lord Malfoy angrily turned to the Lady. "They found the man naked in bed with your damned son! Or perhaps you should simply read the letter he wrote to you."

"Apparently, he was planning on leaving after releasing the slave."

Lady Malfoy said nothing as the letter was handed to her.

"Your verdict, m'Lord and Lady?"

Lady Malfoy was scanning the letter over, shaking her head, though the truth was finally settling – along with betrayal and anguish. The Lord had long ago made his decision.

"Contact our cousins in the Black province. Their eldest son shall replace Draco. The fraud is to be charged with treachery; have him publicly executed."

"And your son?"

"Let him go," Lady Malfoy said before anything else could be.

"But – but, he's successfully planned the demise of the Malfoy line. This is a form of treachery as well, not to mention the fact that he's already tried to kill Lord – "

"I have already passed my judgment," she snapped.

The five advisors turned to look at Lord Malfoy, who nodded:

"Let the little bastard leave, and pray that he'll be eaten by the dogs while he's at it."

"Very well."

"And Zabini, sir?"

"Commend him however you see fit."

The royal guard was alerted and went down to the dungeons. Harry and Draco were shivering in the shadows, having only thin clothes passed to them through the bars and the sheets they had wrapped around themselves when they were dragged down the corridors and to the dungeons. They looked up when the guard unlocked the door.

"You're free to go," he said to Malfoy's son without an ounce of respect.

"What's to happen to Harry?"

The guard laughed. "What, you mean him?" He looked at Harry, whose gaze was pinned to the floor. "Public execution, of course. As for you, Lord and Lady Malfoy both suggested that you leave the castle immediately."

Draco looked at Harry.

"Go on," Harry nodded. "There's no point in both of us staying here."

Draco's first impulse was to allow his conscience to take over and scream that he didn't care and throw the guard out, locking both of them into the cell once more. His cold, logical reasoning, however, won; he stood.

"Will… the others…?"

Harry shrugged. "Maybe."

The guard scowled. "Hurry up!"

Draco glanced at Harry before being escorted – rather, taken – out of the dungeons.

Shut in the darkness once again, Harry didn't expect anymore visitors until the time of the execution – whenever that time was to be. That's why he was sorely surprised when the door swung open again and Hermione entered.

She sat on the bench opposite of Harry, a grim expression on her face. "How are you?"

"As well as I can be, I suppose."

"Blaise – "

"That's what we figured," Harry interrupted sullenly. "Draco kept saying how we should've killed him when we had the chance. I guess he was right."

"No, Harry," she sighed. "It was out of your kind mercy that you let him live."

"And because of that, I'm about to die."

"Will – your friends," (she meant the Order), "Will they help you?"

"I don't know," Harry glanced away. "The Order hasn't been known for rescuing their members in situations like these."

Hermione was shaking her head. "That one friend, at least, has to try to do something; I mean, he couldn't have been so passionate about you not returning and then do nothing…"

"Do the villagers even know?"

"Are you kidding?" Hermione looked at him with wide eyes. "Everyone knows, including the provinces surrounding us. Blaise went straight to Lord Malfoy with that damned wig… and, well, all hell broke loose."

Harry thought of the servants who had cheered when they realized he'd somehow survived the fire. They liked him then, he knew. But now… "They were all disappointed, I bet."

Hermione nodded. "You were their savior."

"Were they angry?"

"Other than disappointment, no one really knows how to react. Even I'm still in shock. I never anticipated…"

"We should've thought that Blaise would do something like this."

"How did he get that wig?" Hermione shook her head. She seemed like she had been pondering on it for the seven hours. "He must've gone straight to the wardrobe during the wedding and taken one of the extras when no one was around."

"It doesn't matter now," Harry shrugged. "I'll be dead by the end of the night, either way."

Hermione frowned.

"I told him, you know."

"Told who?"

"Draco. I told him."

Hermione didn't know what to say for while. She was completely silent before, "How did he take it?"

"We were here for nearly seven hours," Harry smirked. "Six hours is how long it took for him to calm down. He's still angry with me, really. But he listened."

"You told him everything? About the Order? About the spying? I'm surprised he didn't try to kill you."

He almost wanted to, that much was for certain. He felt betrayed, deceived that this partner of his was a spy. The enemy. He had been all along, even when he was pretending to be a friend. Everything was a lie.

But then Harry objected; insisted that things had changed. The part inside of Draco that wanted to believe what Harry was saying listened. He listened to Harry's descriptions of life outside of the castle walls under the rule of Lucius, his father, and about him joining the Order for revenge and to help the other villagers.

But the need for revenge melted away somewhere along the lines as he grew closer to Draco. Even though he was still part of the Order, his views had changed somewhat. As he was confessing this to both Draco and himself, he realized that he had been blindly faithful to the Order without realizing or caring to know what life was like on the other side.

Now he did know.

Draco trusted Harry a touch more after that speech and pushed away his doubt and distrust. When he was being taken away, he knew that he couldn't leave Harry in the dungeons; he knew that he couldn't possibly let this murder happen.

After collecting a few personal belongings from his room, changing into clothes that would be far easier to travel in, and taking an extra pair of traveling clothes, he picked up his blade and felt the tip to make sure it was sharp. He looked around the room: what else would he need? Ah, yes; he picked up his golden journal and put it in the sac that was over his shoulder.

He went outside, looking like a weary traveler already. A guard that was walking down the corridor glared and dismissed him without a second look. It was then that Draco realized that there was a smaller perk to being disowned by his father, one that he hadn't anticipated at all.

He easily made his way down to the dungeons, as everyone seemed bent on ignoring him. When he got there, he realized that his blade wouldn't be needed; the guard had momentarily left his station.

He picked up the ring of keys from the knob in the wall and went from door to door until he came to the one he'd been taken out of. He did some guesswork, but because he was never very good with keys and because there must've been the key to every door in the palace on the ring, he knew he'd be there for a while; and he didn't have the time for this. The guard could be back any second.

The door to the cell opened and out stepped Hermione with an annoyed look. "I – " she stopped when she realized it was Draco, and not the guard she thought was purposely rattling his keys to tell her that her time with Harry was up. "What're you doing here?"

Draco shook off his surprise and put the keys back onto the knob. "I'm taking Harry with me." He peered over Hermione's shoulder at Harry, who was looking up with a surprised look.

"We thought you'd left," Hermione said as Draco walked past her and handed Harry the extra pair of traveling clothes. "I never would've thought – "

"Yes, well, here I am," Draco shot a glare at her. "I'm not a complete barbarian, I'll let you know."

Hermione crossed her arms and rested against the wall.

"Draco, I…" Harry stood up from the bench weakly.

"We can talk later. The guard can return any minute now."

Realizing he was right, Harry changed quickly even though both Hermione and Draco were in the cell and pulled on the heavy cloak.

They were ready to leave.

Hermione's leg bounced before she finally gave in and hugged Harry tightly, kissing him on the cheek. Harry blushed, "Hermione," but he wrapped his arms around her too. And then, to the two men's surprise, she turned to Draco and gave him a hug also.

"You'd better take care of him," she glared, wiping her eyes.

"I can take care of myself," Harry protested, as he gave Hermione one last hug.

I'll allow you to know that one of the secret entrances was in the dungeon; though I won't tell you exactly where, it led straight to the courtyard. Harry and Draco, both shadowing their faces with their cloaks, were taken for early and eager commoners who wanted to see the public execution.

"That was easy," Harry said to Draco after they walked pass the crate that was being set up. It was the Tiger's Cage, as from our world in China; the prisoner would be placed inside of the crate, sealed inside of it, and he would be left there until he died of starvation or dehydration. Anyone who attempted to save him would suffer the same fate. Lord Malfoy had wanted Harry to suffer the same humiliation as he, and so chose the cruelest form of execution. The guillotine was too swift and saved the victim from the torture of pain. The gallows allowed the 50/50 opportunity for a swift death also, as the victim could break his neck and die instantly; and even the suffocating to death bit wouldn't last as long as the Tiger Cage.

They got outside of the courtyard, sticking close together and bowing their heads as they passed the row of royal guards. After setting foot on soil that wasn't directly part of the castle's, Harry felt a sort of elation. They got rather far away and well into the village itself before Harry asked, "So… where are we going?"

"Away from there," Draco looked at Harry. "We'll head over to Amhert province, first. I want you to see that, at least. And then, after a month or two, I'll take you back here. You can return to the Order then."

"Don't speak of that so freely," Harry hissed.

"What will happen to my parents, anyway?" Draco inquired. "While I'm gone, will their throats be slit while they're sleeping?"

"I won't let that happen," Harry shook his head.

It was when they came by a bread stand and was attacked by the pleasant scent that they paused in hunger. Harry smiled when he saw the Fat Lady and her friends. It almost seemed like old days.

"Here, buy two," Draco handed him the coins.

"They say he's barely an adult, couldn't be any older than your little girl," a man said to the Fat Lady behind the counter.

"Could even be that cute customer of yours that disappeared," another woman, Violet if he remembered correctly, said sadly.

"You can see if that's true at sunset."

"It's really going to happen, then? He's really going to be executed?"

"Of course! He has to be! No crazy boy prancing around in a dress and trying to build foreign relations with an imaginary country is going to be allowed to live."

"Do you think Draco Malfoy knew that he was marrying a man?"

"Of course he did. They lived together after the fire, you know. He was bound to find out some way or the other."

"And he didn't even mind."

"I bet you anything he was part of it; that it's his fault the boy pretended to be a foreign princess."

"And if that's so, then it's also his fault he'll be executed. I don't suppose he cares, though."

The Fat Lady finally noticed Harry. She glanced up at him and then did a double glance, peering into the shadows; and then her eyes widened considerably as Harry peeled back the cloak.

"You!" Violet exclaimed. "It's you! We all thought you'd been killed!"

"Rather, thought you were going to be killed," one of the men snickered.

"How are you?" the Fat Lady asked.

"Great. I was only traveling for a while."

"It's good to see you. Would you like your regular order?"

Harry shook his head. "Two loafs, please." He glanced back at Draco, who was standing a bit away.

She pulled out two fresh ones. "Nice to see you smiling."

"He really does look much more charming," Violet noted.

He paid and took the bread, saying goodbye, and turned back to Draco. He explained the relations as they walked down the bustling streets.

"Couldn't you just ride a horse to the bread stand instead of walking for so long every day?"

"Only royals have horses, Draco," Harry smirked.

"That's a pity," Draco said before adding, "We should've gotten some. It's a long walk to Amhert."

"It'll be pretty dangerous too, won't it?"

"Probably," Draco noted. He thought about that for a while. "But you're part of the Order. Surely you've trained for such perils."

"Stop speaking of it!" Harry insisted.

"All right, all right," he said. "But I have to know: after we split – wherever and whenever that may be – should I be expecting an assassin?"

"No," Harry said instantly. "I won't let you die."

He nodded in understanding.

There were more people than usual, and all of them were streaming in through the large gate Harry and Draco were trying to get out of. "All came to watch my execution, I expect," Harry whispered to Draco.

It must've been because it was afternoon and the sun was high in the sky that, once outside of the province, Harry and Draco didn't meet with any dangerous beasts or bandits. At sunset, they had made their way through forests and fields until they came to the province of their destination.

Back in the Malfoy province, Molly had stopped crying. Tonks was gently consoling her. Ginny was trying to keep back her tears as well. The twins were oddly quiet; Bill and Charlie, like the other adults, were solemn. Ron was silently fuming.

They were among the crowds that had come to watch Harry be killed. And yet, they weren't going to do anything to stop it.

The greasy, scary man dressed in black was there again early that morning, after they found out that Harry had been captured; his orders were strictly to not attempt to rescue him.

And so there they were, doing nothing as they were about to watch him die.

The sun began to sink; the crate seemed intimidating and large from where it stood. And finally, the Lord and Lady Malfoy walked out and took their seats in the private boxes. A tiny little man shuffled out with a long list of the crimes Harry was charged with; he read them off slowly, painfully; but was interrupted with a disembodied shout. There was another yell of protest, and a few pleas to spare the false foreign princess. More and more people were joining in on the chants. The Lord and Lady looked at each other in surprise, but did nothing; they merely looked at the tiny man to continue as the members of the royal guard stared menacingly. However, he was interrupted again when a guard rushed out and whispered something to Lord Malfoy.

"WHAT!" he bellowed, standing up in his rage. The guard, who was on his knees, was kicked aside as the Lord barged past him and into the castle. The crowd's protests paused. A few minutes later, they were told to return to their homes as a grand search was put on for the missing slave. Every corner of the province was examined.

At that time, Harry was asleep on a bed in a motel. Draco was sitting at the window, knowing that by this time, every home was being invaded by the royal guard. Intimidation must've been wild through the air.

"You'll go back eventually," Draco had said to Harry earlier; "Just not now. It's not safe."

And why Amhert Province? Well, because Lord Amhert was well known for his disgust of Lord Malfoy. He would never concede to having a search for the fraud in his own province; he would prefer to wait for the request to come directly from Lord Voldemort.

The next day, Harry regretted at least stopping by the head quarters to let the others know that he was okay; but he knew that doing that while Draco was with him would but the other in danger. Draco, who had no idea that Harry was brooding on such things, took Harry out in search for a temporary home they could stay in. There was an empty one near the river, and the landlord practically gave it to them for free. For the entire day, they did nothing but spruce it up; Harry finally snapped at Draco to shut up after hearing endless complaints of how this was nothing next to the royalty he was used to.

And so they would stay for months. To say their friendship grew all the more from where it had left off would be a bit of an understatement as they came to understand each other more and more. Draco began his book analyzing job, as he always insisted he would. He actually became rather well known for his profoundness and much more likeable, in Harry's opinion, after he began to do something he actually enjoyed.

They would go to plays in the evening and sleep throughout the day. Harry would take odd jobs that required the strength of a young man and made a few acquaintances. Every now and then, they would visit the neighboring province, Elread Province, just for the hell of it. They had built a temporary but stable life together, frankly. And for the romantic readers, I might mention that this life hadn't quite become a haven for lovers where they made love every night under the moonlit sky, though it was something quite near it. Their lives were like this until they heard rumors that the Malfoy Province had given up its search for the fraud.

Draco escorted Harry back to the province. Neither broke down when it came time to say goodbye, but neither were casual about it, either. Harry promised to return to Amhert Province someday in the near future. They would keep in touch. It was impossible not to after all that they'd been through.

And so they parted ways. Draco returned to Amhert, and Harry walked to the forest, the growing feeling of unsettled business already haunting him.

The headquarters almost seemed abandoned. Harry went to the front door and knocked. He was nervous, for some reason – he couldn't place a finger on it – and when the door opened, and Ginny's scream exploded through the forest; and when he was ambushed with grasps and hugs and, "Welcome back!"s; and after he was seated at the table for the first dinner he'd had with them, his old family; after all of this, he was able to realize why he was nervous: because eventually, he would have to explain to them where he had gone the night of the scheduled execution and who he had stayed with.

This explanation would come about a year later, however, after he would be pressured into admitting where it was he snuck off to once a month, for a week or two, before returning and acting as if he'd never left in the first place. During the time of this explanation, a plan would be in plot: one that Harry was interweaved with.

He would become the Order's poster boy of sorts, according to the greasy man dressed in black. The commoners would welcome him once he showed himself to be the man who was to bring help to the province. The villagers still spoke of him kindly, and thought that he probably was still their savior, and would've helped them hadn't he been caught. The other departments of the Order would take care of everything; he merely had to wave and smile.

He agreed, but on one condition: that no harm would ever come to any member of the Malfoy family.

Now, frankly, the story is complete. While many more chapters could go into the elaborate scheme of how Harry helped to bring the about the rise of the Order and the downfall of Lord Voldemort, this simply won't happen: because the story is about Harry and Draco, and that is finished.

However, for an epilogue of sorts, I will conclude that, sadly – as Harry became busier and busier – his communication with Draco seized altogether. The province formerly under the Malfoy rule was controlled by a branch of the Order. Harry, who had become well respected for his troubles and ordeals in the Order, quickly suggested that a search be made for Hermione Granger. (She had captured the real thief from the beginning of the story, by the way; the one who had Harry captured.) Her genius would help the rule of the province greatly.

The province, independent from the other provinces under the rule of Lord Voldemort, quickly became a haven: the safe place for travelers to live instead of risking their lives in the wild or having to escape from their bad province to a worse one.

Though there was never again a Lord or Lady of the haven, legend of the first male Lady spread over all of the lands.

And, if you must know, a few years later – after everything was settled and treaties confirming that the province was completely neutral was signed – Harry did leave north to search for a rumored well-known book analyst who had an uncanny physical similarity to a former son of a former Lord.

The End

AN: It's done! Cheer! Honestly, I had this elaborate plot where Draco would leave and meet everyone at headquarters, form a truce, and rescue Harry from the evil Tiger Cage and whatnot; and then they would part, never to see each other again until Harry left afterwards to find him; but I decided that I'm sick of elaborate plots and just ended it where I did.

I'm extremely sorry that it took so long to complete, and I hope you all liked it.


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